


Lying Eyes

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU where Spock is both bodyguard and consort to Uhura.  His life is secure and complete until he meets a young artist, Jim Kirk, who opens his eyes to true love.</p><p>This is not a song meme but the Eagles song Lying Eyes, compelled me to write this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1:  A Piece of Art

**Author's Note:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Lying Eyes

Chapter 1: A Piece of Art

Spock stepped into the walk-in closet, almost overcome with the scent of cedar and pulled out the black wool Kiton suit. The suit was one of a dozen, tailored by Enzo D’Oris’s direct descendant; each meticulously tailored to his body and hung precisely ½ inches apart on wood “Setwell” hangers. He reached for a white French cuff shirt, medium starch, similarly hung, his thin gray striped tie and a pair of black leather Stamford loafers.

His prizes in hand, he carried them to his dressing room and hung them on hand turned pegs, along the long white wall across from a full-length mirror. Standing in front of his dresser, he pulled out black over-the-calf socks, a dark belt and red silk boxers.

Stepping into the boxers, he dressed himself to the right and sat briefly on the white chintz chaise and pulled on his socks. Coming to his feet, he shrugged into his shirt, tugging down the French cuffs and carefully buttoning the front part way. He stepped into the black trousers, carefully tucking in the shirt.

Spock faced the mirror, turning up the crisp collar and tied the striped tie in a four-in-hand knot. The tie had been a gift from his Human grandfather and he handled it with affection. He slid his arms into his coat, finally buttoning the last collar button. He stretched his arms out, tugging on the cuffs and secured the dark pearl links at his wrist.

Turning to the side, he brushed his sleeves with the whiskbroom in the direction of the warp and weave of his tailored suit. He leaned toward the mirror as he buttoned his coat, running long fingers over his face, checking for errant whiskers. Satisfied, he straightened and sighed, he was ready.

A distinctly feminine voice made a noise of approval and Spock spun, facing a smiling Nyota. She was dressed in a low cut ivory gown, designed to show off her curves and slit almost to the hip, setting off spectacular legs.

She crossed the room and tugged at his tie, bringing delicate hands up to the sides of his face. She smelled of mint and expensive perfume and sweet sherry. He reached up to readjust his tie, and took her hands in his and kissed each palm. 

Her dark eyes sparkled with humor and something else. He knew she wanted to kiss him but wouldn’t risk ruining her makeup so early in the evening. He smiled slightly and let affection show in his eyes. He stepped back, dropping her hands.

“Am I attired to your expectations?”

She tilted her head to the side, dark curls pooling on her bare shoulder. “Why, yes, Mr. Spock, you should make an excellent impression on my clients.” She feigned seriousness for a moment but couldn’t maintain it, laughter pealing from her.

He took her arm and led her down the staircase into the foyer. The richly appointed room was primarily white. The only color was polished oak banisters on the staircase and a large round cherry wood table in the center of the room, festooned with an impressive display of dark red roses in a large crystal vase.

Mr. Sulu was their appointed driver, opening massive oak doors that led to the porticle. The car chosen for the evening was a vintage model, a 1986 Lincoln Continental town car, lovingly refurbished by Spock himself. As Mr. Sulu held the door open for Nyota, Spock checked the interior, noting the white leather seats were immaculate and nothing was out of place. He stood and quirked an eyebrow at Sulu who nodded silently. Not only did the car pass muster under Nyota’s exacting standards, it also was as safe and secure as Spock could make it. 

Finally underway, Spock took Nyota’s hand and rubbed her fingers gently. He sent her an inquiring look. She sighed and carefully leaned back against the padded seats, starring blankly ahead of her.

“Any last minute advice for the nervous human, Spock?”

“You need no advice, Nyota. Just continue to be yourself and recognize that the firm would not have you represent them at the Federation for the Arts banquet if they did not believe you had the interpersonal skills to impress.”

Nyota laughed, a musical sound, one he had heard too little lately. “Archer, Pike and Nogura.” She sighed. “Someday I will be a named partner, not just their go to senior, doing all the leg work.”

“Ah, but such lovely legs they are and attached to such a clever mind.” Nyota slapped his hand away as it stroked her mid thigh. Undeterred, he continued, “It would be illogical to send anyone other than their best, Nyota. You are knowledgeable, have unparallel interpersonal skills, and of course, your secret weapon.”

Nyota closed her eyes and frowned. “Yes, of course, my consort, who just happens to be a Vulcan, a member of one of the races we need to impress.” She opened her eyes and studied his face. “You aren’t nervous, of course, even though you haven’t had to deal with your people for some time. Do you think your father and mother will be there?”

“I am confident Sarek will be present, whether or not he will be accompanied by my mother is unknown.”

“You’d like to see her, though?”

Spock turned his head and looked out the window, watching San Francisco pass by, city lights flashing across his face.

“Of course. It has been 18.23 years since I have seen her in person. Sarek has gone to great lengths to insure we do not see each other. Doubtless he is aware I might be in attendance, but I am confident it will not cause any undue awkwardness.”

“I’m not concerned about that. Once we make the rounds . . .”

“I will discreetly disappear if Sarek makes his displeasure known. I am here to engage the Tellarites and Andorians, that is all.”

Nyota studied the side of his face. Spock was frowning, no doubt considering their social strategy for the evening. The Arts banquet was seemingly trivial but bringing artists from Earth, Tellar, Andor, and Vulcan, together under one roof was the goal and an important one. ‘Hearts and minds’ her father had always told her. Art was a universal language. The relationships built this evening and at the subsequent conference had potential to seal several political riffs. That was her firm’s agenda, at least. 

Sulu drove the car down Mason St. and stopped in front of the valet at the Fairmont Hotel. Spock immediately stepped out as a liveried attendant opened the door, holding his hand out to Nyota. She slipped carefully out of the car and took his arm as they entered the hotel. 

The lobby was ornate, baroque banisters followed the graceful staircase; gilt mirrors reflected the enormous flower arrangements. Spock barely acknowledged the grandeur, leading Nyota through the doors leading to the Gold Ballroom.

The room was enormous, filled with tables, covered in white damask, gold vases filled with white flowers from the four worlds. Silver table settings and fine porcelain lent an air of wealth and prosperity. Gold and silver candelabras held ivory candles that lit the room with a soft glow and filled it with the scent of beeswax. Even Spock, exposed as he had been to grand diplomatic gestures, was impressed.

An Andorian string quartet played quietly in the corner of the crowded room, barely heard over the hum of at least five hundred voices. A uniformed hotel captain greeted them formally and escorted them to one of the head tables at the front of the room. Finding their seats, Spock took Nyota’s chiffon wrap and clutch and laid them down on the upholstered silk chair. They both pivoted when they were greeted loudly and enthusiastically by Montgomery Scott, as always, eccentrically attired in full kilt and sporran.

“Donna ye look grand, me dear!” Scott carefully brushed his lips against Nyota’s cheek. She gave him a genuine smile, Spock suspected the last one of the evening.

“Scotty, you are a pleasant surprise!” Nyota stepped back to include Spock.

“Aye! I widnae missed this fete for the world! And Mr. Spock, gud teh see ye, too!” Scotty grabbed Spock’s hand in a meaty handshake and Spock mentally congratulated himself for not wincing.

“You are one of the evenings patrons, no doubt.” Spock extricated his hand and kept his face bland. He had no objection to the man and had enthusiastically followed his engineering patents. The patents had led to not only tremendous improvements in star ship engines but had made Montgomery Scott rich beyond the dreams of avarice. He was a man Spock was pleased to know and had every interest in impressing.

They chatted about inconsequentials as they moved around the room, greeting friends and associates. Spock was never far from Nyota’s side, mostly silent, interacting only as necessary. Scott, a keen observer, didn’t fail to notice that Spock watched the crowd continuously and carefully, as though guarding Nyota Uhura from any perceived threat.

Scott admitted to himself, that was exactly what he was doing. Everyone knew he served many roles as Nyota’s consort, not the least of which was keeping her safe and had been paid good money all those years ago by Nyota’s father, to make sure her life was free of worry and danger. When you were the daughter of the former Federation President, enemies could be anywhere but she was never as safe and secure as when she was with her personal Vulcan bodyguard. 

That was how it had started at least, a master/servant relationship, taking a destitute and disgraced Vulcan scholar out of a University tenement and into a life of wealth and influence. What it was now, Scott couldn’t say. Spock rarely revealed any emotion but his affection and concern for Nyota certainly seemed genuine. He might even love her. Scott sighed, glancing over at the couple, now hand in hand. He had been unsuccessfully repressing his own adoration for her for many, many years. He hoped they had at least found contentment with each other if not a grand passion.

He was interrupted from his ruminations when he noticed Spock had tensed. Scott quickly looked around, trying to determine what had set him on edge. Two Vulcans had made their way through the crowd and stopped in front of Spock and Nyota.

Scott could see a muscle jump in Nyota’s jaw before her face noticeably smoothed. She stood tall; almost brittle, as she offered the ta’al and greeted them in Vulcan. Spock appeared frozen, only his eyes darkened slightly. 

The Vulcan couple returned Nyota’s greeting, the male casting a quick appraising glance at Spock. Spock was implacable though as he nodded to them.

The female, a petite doll, raked him with her eyes before turning toward Nyota, her distain barely concealed.

“Miss Uhura, it is satisfying but not surprising to see you on this occasion. No doubt you intend to use your Terran influence on our gracious guests from Tellar and Andor.”

“T’Pring, our intent, as always, is to promote understanding between Federation worlds through the mutual language of the arts. Imagine my surprise to see you and Stonn present. I was not aware that your limited knowledge of diplomacy would cause you to attend such an illogical conference.”

Scott took a deep breath; the gauntlet was thrown. Just as he was about to diffuse the situation, T’Pring turned to him.

“Mr. Scott, surely your wealth and influence allows you to avoid consorting with the pretentious and ignorant?”

Before Scott could respond, Spock took a step into T’Pring’s space. Scott heard a growl and realized it had come from the male. Spock merely flicked an eyebrow at him and turned his attention to T’Pring, the hand on Nyota’s arm gripping hard enough to bruise.

“Your comments are both unwelcome and illogical as you are clearly ignorant of the goal and intent of this evening. I believe I speak for both Mr. Scott and my consort when I suggest you remove yourself from our immediate vicinity.” Spock didn’t even glance at Stonn whose face was flushed with rage.

“Aye, lassie, take yourself off. My friends and I plan on enjoying this evening and making a productive time of it as well.”

T’Pring placed a restraining hand on Stonn’s arm, giving them a condescending nod, turned and walked off into the crowd.

Nyota looked disbelievingly at Spock and quietly remarked, “What the hell?” She glanced at Scott who raised both eyebrows incredulously.

“I am somewhat concerned if that is the Vulcan response to something as simple and straightforward as an arts conference.” Spock frowned as he spoke, pulling Nyota closer.

She laughed without real humor. “Well then, we will have our work cut out for us tonight.”

A soft bell chimed through the ballroom indicating dinner was about to be served. Scott promised to find them later and left for his table, leaving Spock and Nyota alone.

She tucked a small hand in his and gave him a smile, leading him back to their table. They made their introductions to their table companions, which included a Tellerite couple, an Andorian, and a Deltan group consisting of two males and a very beautiful female, all three politely repressing their pheromones. The only human, other than Nyota, was a physician, clearly slightly inebriated and charmingly from the Southern part of North America, according to his accent and demeanor. 

Spock did not find him nearly as pleasant company as the women did. He found his innuendos trite, his remarks crude and his accent impenetrable. Dr. Leonard McCoy tended to dominate the conversation and was a self-described expert on the keynote speaker, an up and coming painter, described as his best friend.

As the meal wore on, Spock managed to make conversation and contacts with the Andorian and Tellerites; the Deltans, however, made him slightly nervous. He kept one eye on Nyota, the other on the speakers who had taken over from the Andorian quartet.

Coffee and tea were finally served along with after dinner drinks, enthusiastically indulged in by Dr. McCoy, to Nyota’s amusement. By the time the final speaker had taken the stage, Spock’s interest in the evening had long waned. He contented himself with studying Nyota’s profile when he heard applause. Spock intended to half listen to the speaker, admittedly a talented young man, when he saw him, caught in a spotlight.

Spock never actually heard the speech. He was transfixed by the young man, light pouring off him, his katra crackling in the air around him. Spock looked around the room, especially at the other Vulcans, wondering if they were seeing the same thing.

Every sentient being produced an energy that most telepathic species could see to a degree. Humans, being psi null, produced a very flat, if occasionally colorful, aura. This man fairly radiated color, strands of energy and light streaming off his body, moving like waves around him. It was not a human signature, at least none he had seen before.

Spock knew he was speaking but couldn’t hear the words. He heard the timber of the light baritone, noted the flat vowels of the mid-west, and watched his hand gestures, expressive and evocative.

He turned to Nyota, who was listening closely. She pushed over the evening’s program and Spock read it, noting the speaker’s name. James T. Kirk.


	2. Chapter 2:  Primary Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock finally get together, Spock and Nyota have a close encounter with Sarek and Amanda, and we learn a bit about Spock's domestic situation. Sounds like Peyton Place!

Chapter 2: Primary Colors

Spock eventually managed to calm himself, invoking the mind rules and refocusing his attention onto his dinner companions. Dr. McCoy was ebullient on the subject of his best friend, James Kirk, and Spock tried hard not to question him closely about the young artist. According to McCoy, Kirk was brilliant, articulate, and creative, with a unique personality, consistent with the truly artistic and eccentric. Spock was eager to find out what, if any of that, was true.

When he finished his speech, Spock was illogically excited and nervous when Kirk joined them at their table. Part of Spock’s nature wanted nothing more than to escape, the other wanted to sit and watch Kirk’s every move, observing the ebb and flow of his mental signature.

Nyota couldn’t be pried loose from her prize, though. If she could win Kirk over with her patented social skills, it would be a professional coup, which wouldn’t go unnoticed by the senior partners of her law firm. Spock watched as she made conversation, gently drawing Kirk out. Under Nyota’s questioning, he seemed to be essentially a shy man, despite his public speaking abilities, avoiding eye contact and answering her direct questions sparingly.

Spock took his time studying Kirk. He was younger than Spock, probably in his early thirties, medium height, with an athletic build that reminded Spock of a gymnast. He had dark blond hair and expressive hazel eyes, set in a boyishly handsome face. He was unremarkable on the whole, until he smiled. His easy grin was unselfconscious and winsome, telegraphing a bright personality that literally, from Spock’s point of view, shone. 

Spock had little to say; he merely watched the conversation flowing around him, occasionally inserting a dry barb. Every once in a while, Nyota look over at him, confusion on her face. She knew Spock was having a strong reaction to Kirk, she just didn’t know why. Their relationship included limited telepathy, but as it was not a full bond, Nyota couldn’t pick up on the nuances of his emotion.

Spock’s attention was distracted momentarily as Scott approached their table. With Spock’s permission, he swept Nyota out onto the dance floor, leaving Spock alone with the Doctor and Kirk. Silence fell and Spock felt the weight of Kirk’s gaze on him. He didn’t notice McCoy making his apologies and slipping away to the bar. He had a momentary panic when he realized they were alone.

Kirk cleared his throat and smiled. “Well, Mr. Spock, do you like what you see?”

Spock’s throat closed, he stared at Kirk, transfixed. 

“You are aware, I am sure, you are projecting a strong mental aura?”

Kirk looked at him with surprise. “No, and I’m sorry if it’s upsetting you. I’ve never had anyone mention it before.”

Spock shook his head. “Indeed, that is quite odd. I am trying to ascertain if it is a Vulcan perception or a telepathic one.”

“I would guess it must be a Vulcan perception, although the Vulcan representatives at the banquet haven’t shown much interest in me. Not that it’s a bad thing, and, no offense, Vulcan telepathy makes me anxious. Honestly, though, I have never met one before.”

“A Vulcan or a telepath?”

Jim laughed, a warm sound coming from deep in his chest. “A Vulcan, I suppose, though I did meet the Vulcan Ambassador a few minutes ago. He made me nervous.”

Spock nodded in agreement, “No doubt.”

Jim cocked his head, curious. “Don’t take this wrong, Mr. Spock, but you seem different from other Vulcans.”

Spock drew himself up; he had an illogical need to make Kirk like him, to understand him. For once in his life, he didn’t care about the perceptions of others, only this one man.

“Perhaps it is because I am not truly Vulcan. I am half human and I have lived among you for well over a decade.” 

“Ah, with one of us in particular, I’d guess. She is lovely by the way. You seem happy, no, sorry . . . well matched.”

It was Spock’s turn to look puzzled. “If you are referring to Miss Uhura, she is an exceptional female. Our relationship has been quite acceptable, up to this point.”

Kirk smiled, noting the qualification. He didn’t like to think of himself as an opportunist but he never turned away a potential prospect. In this case, he was willing to step on some toes to get to know Spock better. Kirk leaned forward. “Granted. But I wonder . . . what comes after . . . this point?”

“Well, Mr. Kirk, that depends on many factors. Tell me, do you dance?”

Kirk laughed out loud. Damn if Spock wasn’t flirting with him. “Call me Jim and I do.”

Spock stood and instinctively held out his hand. When Jim took it, Spock froze. If he thought Jim’s aura was impressive, he was unprepared for the sheer power of his personality, even through Spock’’s mental shields. For a moment, Spock felt out of control, emotion seething through him. This man compelled him, completed him. He’d never noticed the lack, but he knew Jim was like an essential element, necessary to his very being.

Spock led Jim onto the dance floor, noting absently that the music was slow, a romantic jazz ballad, popular perhaps a decade ago. He placed his hands on Jim’s hips and felt a brief moment of euphoria when Jim’s arms wound around his shoulders. As the band played, they swayed together, moving out of time.

Spock closed his eyes, cheek resting against Jim’s temple, breath warm against his cheek. He realized he would be content to hold him in his arms forever.

Jim, for his part, knew this had to be wrong somehow. There was something fragile about Spock, unknowable. Jim knew he should keep this causal, businesslike. He need the professional contact, he didn’t need to get wrapped up with Spock emotionally. Besides, he belonged to another who probably wouldn’t be willing to help Jim’s career if he stole her boyfriend or consort, or whatever they were to each other. Yet, Jim had to be honest, there was something about Spock that was drawing him on such a basal level, he couldn’t let go of him. Held in Spock’s arms, he was whole in a way he had never been before.

Neither one of them noticed Nyota dancing close by, held tightly in Scott’s arms. She enjoyed her partner who was solid and strong. Scott was not Spock but the differences were intriguing. Nyota found she relaxed in Scott’s arms, appreciating his clear delight in her. But, as they danced by Spock and Kirk, Nyota frowned; her consort was wrapped in Kirk’s arms, moving in his embrace, tethered to him in a way he had never been with her. 

Suddenly, Nyota realized that Spock, although devoted to her, had never been really emotionally engaged. She loved Spock with all her heart. She didn’t want to let him go. She wouldn’t let him go. She swallowed and pressed her cheek against Scott’s wool jacket. Damn him anyway. 

When the music ended, Jim and Spock found themselves on the edge of the dance floor, completely oblivious to the party around them. They had stepped apart, Spock still holding Jim’s waist, Jim resting his hands lightly on Spock’s shoulders.

This could have been a game to Jim. He’d played men and women before, to gain a sponsor, even to find a willing partner for the night. Jim looked into Spock’s deep brown eyes and realized he didn’t want to play. Jim watched Spock watch him. He was being consumed by those eyes, searching his face for the answers to questions Jim couldn’t imagine. This was potential for disaster. Jim couldn’t do this, he couldn’t hurt him. 

Stepping out of his embrace, he turned and abruptly walked off without saying another word. He refused to give into temptation and look back over his shoulder. If he had, he would have been surprised at Spock’s steely determination. 

Spock stared after Jim, grateful that his telepathy allowed him to read Jim easily. Jim’s internal debate about whether or not to pursue Spock had been laughably obvious. Spock didn’t spare a moment regretting reading Jim’s surface emotions; he’d been paid well to do much worse in the past. No, he was pleased that Jim seemed conflicted, it made him that much more attractive. The fact that his shy reticence with Nyota earlier had been a ruse was amusing. He had no doubt she hadn’t been fooled for a moment. 

Spock sighed, the hunt was on. Fortunately, he knew exactly where Jim was going to be for the next few days. He was delighted, for once, that he had agreed to attend the arts conference.

By the time he had returned to the table, Jim was long gone but Nyota was there waiting, a slightly irritated look on her face. Spock raised an eyebrow eloquently and helped her gather her clutch and wrap as they said their farewells. McCoy slurred a goodbye, promising to find them again at the conference the next day.

Spock took Nyota’s arm and led her through the crowd. They passed several acquaintances; stopping briefly to speak inconsequentials, so expected at these events, they were second nature. Just before they made their escape, they found themselves confronted by Sarek and his wife, the Lady Amanda.

Nyota’s eyes were huge, as she took in the much lauded couple, famous throughout the Federation for their diplomatic skills, influence, and power and yet, Spock’s parents. Standing just a few feet from them, there were noticeable cracks in the seamless façade. Sarek was flushed, dark eyes glittering with suppressed emotion. The Lady Amanda, a petite and delicate woman of late middle age, looked at her son with such hope and affection, Nyota was touched. She glanced at Spock quickly, fast enough to see his brown eyes cloud with pain before his emotional shields slammed down, rendering his face unreadable once again.

“Ambassador Sarek, we greet thee . . .” Nyota started introductions with the ta’al and her impeccable Vulcan. Sarek would have none of it and interrupted her in his unaccented Standard, his flat intonation revealing far more emotion that Spock was at the moment.

“My wife and I are aware of who you are Miss Uhura.” He looked at Spock coldly and held his gaze. “I request that you attend us tomorrow at the Embassy. Please contact Stonn and make an appointment. We have personal matters to discuss.”

“And will my mother also be in attendance?” Spock’s voice was even and uninflected but Nyota knew what this cost him.

“Of course.” With those two words, Sarek spun, taking the Lady Amanda with him. She sent a beseeching look over her shoulder as he spirited her away. Spock gave no indication he saw it and pulled Nyota towards the Fairmont’s lobby.

The ride home was silent, Nyota’s annoyance with Spock and Kirk long forgotten. She was almost afraid of him when he got like this, frustration and anger literally seething from him. He was never cruel or violent, but his tightly leashed emotions, were just below the surface. 

It is said that Vulcans have no emotions. Based on her observations of Spock at least, that was untrue. Their emotions were barely contained and when they came to light, so powerful; they could be dangerous to the humans around them. Nyota had seen Spock out of control only a couple of times and she would happily forgo ever seeing it again.

When they returned home, they went their separate ways, which was not uncommon. Both needed privacy and rarely spent the night together. Nyota went upstairs to change, returning after a few minutes, to the large kitchen for a glass of sherry, wearing white Egyptian cotton sleep pants and a loose tank that might have originally been Spock’s.

She found Spock, sitting on the floor, a bowl of dog food between his knees, talking quietly to their black and white Australian Shepherd, Panda. Panda was more interested in Spock’s voice than the ground chicken and beef in front of him. His head was cocked and he watched Spock’s face closely, wiggling his joy. Finally, overcome with the attention, he fell over on his side, panting and whining, offering his white belly for petting.

Nyota sat on the hardwood floor next to him, leaning back on the cabinets. Spock didn’t acknowledge her but when their hands finally brushed, he grabbed her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. He sat back with a sigh and unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie. The fact that he was sitting on a kitchen floor with a dog and a barely dressed young woman in a suit worth three times what he had been paid as an academic, never made an impression.

“How are you?”

Spock was silent for a couple of beats. “As well as can be expected. I admit to being curious, though. Whatever Sarek wants to speak to me about, is certainly important if he is willing to break almost two decades worth of silence.”

Normally Spock was so precise, the vagueness in his voice disconcerted Nyota. He wouldn’t admit to being worried, yet he was.

“Your mother is lovely. If nothing else, you must be pleased at least to see her again.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Pleased? Not the word I would have chosen.”

Spock sat for a couple more minutes and then stood, giving Panda a final rub, and helped Nyota to her feet. He kept her hand in his and grabbed a red rose from the floral arrangement as they walked up the stairs. Spock led her to her bedroom and she was slightly surprised when he followed her in, pulling her into his arms as soon as the door closed and kissed her.

Spock backed her toward the bed, his kisses desperate. She pulled the tank over her head as Spock pushed her down on the bed, removing her pants. He drew the rose down the front of her throat, across her collarbones and chest, finally teasing her nipples with the soft petals. 

Spock opened her legs, taking a deep breath, allowing her scent to arouse him. The rose moved lower, tickling her hipbones and finally coming to rest at her sex. He dropped to his knees, kissing her inner thighs.

Nyota stretched, joints popping, enjoying his attentions. He was always so considerate, often bringing her to orgasm several times before taking his own pleasure. Tonight, though, he was impatient. He lowered his heavy body onto hers, pulling out his cock, he buried himself in her in one thrust.

He was still almost fully dressed, his clean smelling shirt abrading her skin, his wool pants pushed down around his ankles. Spock thrust into her, his rhythm strong and regular, breath in her hair, holding her wrists tightly, above her head. 

Nyota felt her body tighten and suddenly she came, her body tensing around him. Spock grunted and she felt his warm semen flooding her. 

Spock set her to rights and after a quick wash, removed the remainder of his suit and laid it neatly across the chair by the bed. Again, to her surprise, he crawled in behind her, drawing up the comforter and curling around her, hands tucked under her breasts. They fell asleep like that, his mouth pressed against the back of her neck, where her soft hair was still damp with sweat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a review on your way out!


	3. Chapter 3:  Brush Strokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Chapter 3: Brush Strokes

Nyota tapped long scarlet nails on her desk top, staring sightlessly at her screen. She ached in a way she hadn’t in a long time and remembered last night, oddly cause for concern not satisfaction. Making love with Spock was an unusual occurrence these days. In the beginning, it had been daily, sometimes multiple times, but with time, satisfaction had never waned yet the frequency had slowed, to the point where she had almost stopped thinking of him as a lover. She had taken others. He may have too, but was too much of a gentleman to ever allow her to know for sure.

Last night had been strange and she couldn’t help wonder if it had been brought on by both or either of seeing his father and meeting Jim Kirk. Kirk was interesting; she was willing to admit it. He had an “aw, shucks” demeanor that hid an astute, razor sharp mind. He was entitled to try, try to convince her he was nothing more than an Iowa farm boy, and she was also entitled to find him out. She had researched him already and within two hours found he was not quite what he seemed.

For one, he was not the orphaned poverty stricken boy, pulling himself up by the bootstraps, as was suggested by his bio. He was the son of George and Winona Kirk, decorated Star Fleet officers, recently deceased, who had between them, won many accolades in both engineering and Star Fleet service. He was not the poorly educated artist, learning his trade in the school of ‘hard knocks’. He was trained at Julliard and Art Center in Pasadena. He was not destitute, living in a hovel; he had a large artist’s loft in the Haight in San Francisco.

No, she was quite convinced he had an agenda, which evidently included Spock. She wouldn’t worry if it was a mere dalliance, but Spock was hers, had been since they met. It had taken too long and too much energy to break through his shell, to give him up to this brash boy who had no idea of Spock’s value. 

She had spent the better part of a decade winning Spock’s trust. His loyalty had initially been bought and paid for by her father, who wanted Nyota protected and watched by the Vulcan. She suspected Spock’s mother, an old friend of her father’s, had made the arrangements, pulling Spock out of destitution, working as a doctoral candidate at Stanford’s Carnegie Institute, and into the equally complex world of being the bodyguard for the venerated former Federation’s President. 

Alhamisi Uhura had been a popular President, at least to Federation allies. His pro alien platform had paved the way for support from Andor, Tellar, Rigel and, of course, Vulcan. Unfortunately, anti alien fervor had swept Earth at the end of his term, due in part to Klingon military incursions which had cost Star Fleet several ships, including the Excalibur, the very ship the Kirks had served on, losing their lives and making James T. Kirk, their surviving son, famous sector wide.

The Only Earth Movement (OEM) had become increasingly popular over the last few years. The OEM was believed to be responsible for several recent attacks against aliens residing on Earth and any politician associated with them. Former President Uhura had weathered several assassination attempts and threats against his family; hence his employment of Spock, first as his own bodyguard, later as Nyota’s. 

Spock was a diplomat’s son, experienced in the language of Federation politics, naturally strong, telepathic, and driven to do his duty. His academic background in physics neither helped nor hindered, but gave him an intellectual outlet when he wasn’t focused on keeping Nyota safe.

Nyota understood that Spock was well paid to stay with her. His reputation now was such that he could write his own ticket in security venues. She believed he continued to live with her, protect her, and guide her, because he had come to care for her, as she had him. They were bound together not just by loyalty, but love or at least, affection. She smiled to herself, although she had slept with others, had brief affairs; she had never considered replacing Spock in her heart or her home.

Now it appeared Spock was faced with a fight on two fronts; his father, a controlling evil bastard from Nyota’s point of view, who wanted god knows what, and Kirk, a manipulative upstart who probably only wanted Spock in order to prove he could bag an elusive Vulcan. Spock had done so much for her over the years; the least she could do was make sure neither man got their hooks into him. She took a long sip of her sherry and got back to work.

 

Spock had contacted Stonn at precisely 800h and obtained an appointment with his father at 1100h. Mr. Sulu had already driven Nyota to work in Palo Alto and was available to take him to Embassy Row in the City. The car ride seemed unreasonably short and he ignored any attempts at conversation from Sulu.

He was admitted into the Vulcan embassy with efficiency if not enthusiasm and found himself in Sarek’s well-appointed waiting room. The receptionist didn’t offer him a seat or refreshment, which he would have declined in any case. Stonn appeared shortly and sullenly escorted him to Sarek’s inner office. Spock hadn’t been there in many years but noted it hadn’t changed at all; it was as austere and cold as he remembered.

The only warmth in the room was his mother, who leaped to her feet and walked to him without hesitation. She looked as if she wanted to embrace him, and indeed, had they been home on Vulcan, he would have allowed it. In Sarek’s lair though, she stopped abruptly in front of him, studying his face closely, searching for changes the years had wrought.

Spock made his own study, noting she had aged since he had last seen her, her skin becoming translucent with time, her body now thin and fragile where once she had been slender and delicate. He caught himself frowning with concern and quickly schooled his features.

Sarek wasted no time. “My wife, attend.”

Amanda turned and looked over her shoulder. “Surely, Sarek, we can . . .”

“Attend, wife. We have matters to discuss and no doubt Spock has other business to attend to.”

Spock’s eyes flashed. “None so important as greeting my mother after so long a time.”

“I see your understanding of Vulcan protocols has not improved with time.” Sarek walked around to the front of his desk and took Amanda’s hand. 

Spock bristled. “And your appreciation of family and IDIC has not changed either. State your business with me if you can.”

“Stop! Both of you! Must it always be a war between you?” Amanda was white and allowed Sarek to guide her to the chair next to his desk.

Spock didn’t try to hide his alarm. Clearly his mother was stressed by this situation and possibly unwell. He sent his father a disgusted look.

Sarek glared at him. “Let us make this quick. As you can see your mother is not well, the situation has caused her distress.”

“What situation are you referring to?”

“You are of an age. You have broken your bond with T’Pring. We have selected another bond mate for you based on a great deal of negotiation and research. You will return to Vulcan immediately and make her your wife.”

Spock’s lips curled in a tiny smile. This was ludicrous. “And if I do not?” He knew what was coming.

“You will be removed from the family, disinherited, and disgraced, your citizenship revoked.”

Amanda gasped; perhaps even she hadn’t realized Sarek would go this far. Spock actually chuckled.

“And this is different from my life for the last 13 years, in what way? Sarek, let me be clear. You essentially disowned me long ago. I have made a life, a career, I am respected, I have friends and family here. My only regret is not seeing Mother.”

Sarek couldn’t keep the cold rage from his voice. “You have nothing here. You are kept like a pet by Alhamisi Uhura, at the beck and call of the highest bidder. Your ‘friends’ are human, who see you as an alien. Your ‘family’ is that woman you call a consort, who is nothing more than a . . .”

“Stop! Sarek! That is enough!” Amanda ran shaking hands through short silver hair. “Spock, please. We want you to come home! Your family needs you. Your father . . .” She shot a glare at Sarek, “your father needs you. Come home with us and try one more time to live as a Vulcan on Vulcan! The young woman we found, T’Lara, she is lovely! I know you will find her suitable . . .” Amanda finally wound down like a clock, speechless in the end, faced with Spock’s implacable expression.

“I say this as a courtesy to you, Mother. I am less an alien on Earth than I ever was on Vulcan. I will not return, begging to be accepted again. I will not consider a Vulcan mate to whom I will only be a half-breed, unworthy to even father children with. No. I will not.”

Spock bowed his head and turned, letting himself out of Sarek’s office without another word. Leaving the Embassy, he waived Mr. Sulu away and walked. He had no particular destination in mind but he couldn’t meditate in this state of mind and was unable to bring himself to call Nyota and explain the latest betrayal.

An hour later, Spock had shrugged out of his long brown coat, placing it neatly over his arm, the heat of the day only just warm enough for his cable knit sweater. He was in the bohemian part of the City, a block or so west of Haight-Ashbury, the renowned artistic heart of the old City. His long stride slowed as he approached a sidewalk café. He paused by the entrance, searching the outside tables for an empty seat when he saw Jim Kirk, nose buried in an old fashioned newspaper, hand blindly reaching for what seemed to be an ice tea. The mental emanations surrounding him were smaller; less vibrant, but still so distinctive and compelling, Spock was momentarily speechless.

Spock had no real interest in company but this opportunity couldn’t be ignored. He walked to the table and stood silently next to Jim’s chair. Jim never looked up and continued reading, just waiving him to the chair as though he expected him.

Spock sat down, stretching long legs under the metal table and observed Jim Kirk. He was wearing a long sleeved yellow t-shirt over black jeans and boots, his denim jacket casually thrown over the back of his seat. He had reading glasses perched precariously on his nose that tended to slip down, causing him to adjust them constantly. The San Francisco Chronicle was open on the table in front of him and he had to use his hands to keep it from flying away in the light breeze.

Finally, Jim looked up over his glasses, acknowledging Spock with a grin.

“Fancy meeting you here, Spock.”

“Indeed, Mr. Kirk, I am pleasantly surprised to see someone of my acquaintance.”

“Jim.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jim. You agreed to call me Jim.”

“So I did, Jim.” Spock paused and tapped Jim’s newspaper with a long finger. “This seems a relatively inefficient way to obtain current information.”

“Ah!” Jim leaned back in his chair, hands caressing the newsprint. “It is the best way to obtain information. In the hands of a gifted journalist, putting words to this paper insures they are well thought out, weighty, and truly important. If I want something lacking insight and significance, I can always look up the information on my PADD.”

“You are an intellectual snob.” There was no bite to Spock’s remark.

“Well, I guess I am. What the standard media serves up as news and analysis is highly over rated.”

They sat staring at each other for a minute or two. A waiter came and took Spock’s order for hot spice tea, committing him to stay for a while. Jim smiled at that, folding up his newspaper and carefully putting it in his coat pocket.

“You left.” Spock wasn’t in the mood to play games.

Jim stared, not ready for the honest and straightforward manner Spock started the conversation.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought if I stayed, I wouldn’t want to leave, and I had to leave.”

Spock tilted his head. “Why did you need to leave?”

Jim rubbed his hand over his chin. This was not the way these conversations usually went. “Look, you were with someone. It seemed a little cavalier to just move in on you after one dance.”

“Is that what you were doing, moving in on me?”

“Jesus, Spock! Yes, all right. I had designs on you. I wanted to take you home and make love to you . . . I wanted to . . .”

“And now?”

“What?”

“Do you want to take me home now and make love to me?”

Jim gaped. “Yes, well, yeah, I do.”

Spock rose gracefully, gathered his coat and extended his hand to Jim. “Let us go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give this a review!


	4. Chapter 4:  Study in Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, owns Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Chapter 4: Study in Gray

Jim’s loft was a three-story walk up on a dingy block, slightly outside the Haight. Two hundred years ago, the building had been a warehouse and had long windows on four sides, bathing the studio in natural light. Jim shared the floor with another artist, decaying walls separating their space. The loft itself had no dividers; it was one long room, with polished cement floors. 

Every inch of available wall space was covered in canvases, old fashion photographs, and prints. There were handwritten notes pasted one on top of each other on the pictures. Strangely, there was no smell of chemicals, consistent with an artist’s studio, no turpentine, no paint drying on the canvases. And the paintings? Spock didn’t give himself much time to study them; he was far more interested in the artist himself. What he did notice was a vague impressionistic style, painted with an educated hand but somewhat pedestrian in execution.

Jim stood in the middle of the room, nervously wiping his hands on his jeans. He watched Spock closely, trying to tell if he was impressed with the art surrounding them. Finally, he walked over to the windows and cracked several of them open, letting the ocean breeze into the stale smelling room. He hadn’t been back to the loft in several days and glanced around quickly to make sure everything was in order.

Spock had said little on the walk over. He seemed taciturn by nature, despite an almost overwhelming sensuality. Jim didn’t know how to approach him, to turn this encounter into what was familiar. He eyed him discretely, noting that there was purposefulness in his manner that surprised Jim and frankly made him nervous.

He mentally shook himself, plastered an easy smile on his face and walked over to Spock. He needed to turn this to his advantage. Jim had used this ploy before. Everyone was vain; everyone thought they were a piece of art. He pulled Spock over to the window, positioning him so the sunlight fell onto his face. 

He’d planned to tell Spock he was a good subject, unique and beautiful. He intended to use a sketch or a painting as a ploy to get him in bed, wrap him around his finger, and begin a short but satisfying sexual relationship. That was how it had always worked before, at least.

Jim believed he was no longer capable of being surprised, but he was. The angles of Spock’s face, the strong nose, deep set eyes, full mouth, they screamed to be drawn, painted in strong colors, sketched in charcoal, brushed with water color. Suddenly, he didn’t see Spock as a conquest; he became the subject of an inexpressible part of himself, dormant for so long, filling him with possibilities.

Spock’s eyes widened at Jim’s scrutiny. His katra had been muted at the café. Once they entered the loft, it had actually dimmed, going dull, as Jim traveled the well-known paths of seduction. Now, Jim was literally on fire, light flashing off him, the colors bright and vivid. This was what he had come for. Not a tired, artless embrace, but this blazing energy. 

Spock took a long fingered hand and cradled the side of Jim’s face, searching changeable eyes. He breathed across Jim’s cheek, warm and solid. Jim found he was locked into Spock’s gaze, feeling his tense energy, watching for some, any indication, as to what Spock wanted.

It was one of those moments where time stood still. It was a silly, romantic notion, but true, as the seconds slipped by, completely unnoticed by either of them. Finally, to Spock’s surprise, it was Jim who broke the mood, leaning into his hand and touching his lips with his. 

Spock wanted to pull away but Jim’s mental energy was a soulful trap. It embraced him, encompassed him, and held him tightly without physical form. Spock felt himself relaxing into it, a mere touch of the lips, as though held tightly to Jim’s very center.

It was odd how touching each other so chastely was more satisfying than the heat of being buried in Jim’s body. Spock had been driven to consume him but now was satisfied to let Jim’s mind wash over him in gentle waves. He pulled Jim into his arms, holding him tighter than he had on the dance floor the night before. His lips moved over Jim’s, whispering and caressing. The press of his body drawing them closer, Spock’s mind sought Jim’s, irrevocably, relentlessly. 

It was if an internal alarm went off inside Spock; he realized they were too close, mentally, physically, and emotionally. He was dangerously near the point where he couldn’t stop and he didn’t want to stop. But if they continued, a bond could form, fragile, but with tremendous power to bind them together.

“No!” Spock almost shouted as he pushed Jim away from him.

Jim was shocked; he had been drifting in a waking dream. He stared at Spock’s closed expression, wanting desperately to step back into his arms. It had been more than physical; he had felt an emotional resonance. He knew Spock had been reaching for his mind and suddenly stopped.

“Why?” 

“We cannot. I cannot. Jim, do you not realize what almost happened between us?”

“No, not really. I only know I felt closer to you just now than I have to anyone.”

“Jim, that was the beginning of a mental link.” Spock lightly rested his hands on Jim’s shoulders, careful not to touch his skin, and gave him a light shake.

“Do you recall when I spoke to you about your mental emanations? That I could see them? What I did not tell you is how they called to me. I did not truly understand, and for that, I am sorry.” 

Jim realized Spock was slipping away from him. He had been alone for so long, finding brief comfort in soulless relationships. Loneliness had ground his gift into dust, preventing him from taking solace in his art. Now, he found someone who restarted him and he couldn’t bear to stay.

“No, you can’t leave,” Jim whispered.

“That which is between us, it is not what either of us intended. We can not be tied in such a way.”

Jim stepped back and turned, facing the wide windows. Looking out on the sunny day, he clenched his fists, willing his grief away with long practice. Once again, he’d reached for something important. Once again, he’d been found lacking. He turned his head, his profile silhouetted against blue skies.

“I understand. I can’t really blame you for this, it is my fault.”

Spock frowned and began to speak, when Jim cut him off.

“Go, just go.”

Spock stared at Jim’s back, shook his head and turned to leave. His hand on the door, he thought he heard Jim whispering, even his superior hearing couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded like ‘love you’.

 

Jim stood at the windows, watching the clouds chasing across the sky. He smelled the salty tang coming off the bay. He heard voices coming from the street below. He could feel Spock walking down the sidewalk, hurrying somewhere, bereft. He knew this because he could still feel him, vaguely in the back of his mind. 

He turned his back on the windows and looked around his studio. Recently, it had become a stage where he played out his role, the talented artist, always in need of money, so busy with appearances; he couldn’t spare time to work on his next big project. His next big project, of course, didn’t exist. Jim had tried for months, to come up with a defining piece. His creativity had become a blank canvas. Of course, he had done smaller pieces; light, unimportant, well liked if not loved.

For a few brief moments this afternoon, Jim had felt the stirrings of hope. The spark, the muse, creativity, had come rushing back in the light playing across Spock’s face. He could feel a fire burning inside him, as if he could reach down inside of himself and pull out something essential, something beautiful, something whole. That fire didn’t exist without Spock though.

And love? He was better off without it. No matter how much he was drawn to Spock, he couldn’t see a future with him or anyone else. When Jim had been young and foolish, he’d believed he would find someone who would complete him, his other half. After many faceless, passionless encounters, he realized that he either wasn’t capable of love or undeserving of it.

Jim ran his hands through his hair and picked up a sketchpad and a bit of charcoal. He sat, back against the windows, sunlight falling across the textured paper. He began to draw, discovering the lines that defined Spock. 

 

An hour later, Leonard McCoy stopped by Jim’s studio, unable to find him at home. He let himself in quietly and noticed Jim, head resting in his arms, dozing at the wood table in the center of the room, a sketchpad lying beside him. McCoy took a look and saw Jim’s study of Spock, bold, clean lines with just a hint of sadness about the eyes. It wasn’t Jim’s best work but it showed more promise than any piece he had done in months.

Damn Vulcan. The last thing Jim needed was a new obsession. He fell half in love with all of his models, that passion bringing brilliance to his pieces. A Vulcan wasn’t what Jim needed. He needed someone who would love him back, even if briefly.

From what McCoy knew of Spock, he wouldn’t fit the bill. First, he was already with Nyota Uhura. Their love affair was the stuff of tabloids, if not legend. Second, from what he understood, Spock was kept by her, or her father, at least. As much as Jim might try, he couldn’t compete with that kind of money and power. Third, Spock was a bit disreputable. What he actually did, apart from protecting Nyota, was unknown. Frankly, there were some pretty strange stories about the work he did for former President Alhamisi Uhura, the kind of stories that involved violence and mental injury. 

McCoy shook his head and placed a gentle hand on Jim’s shoulder, rousing him. Jim startled for a moment and then his façade slipped back into place. The wreck of the afternoon recalled vividly, he stood and began to pace the room.

“Bones, shouldn’t you be at the conference? Isn’t Christine presenting this afternoon?” Jim was careful to not meet McCoy’s eyes. His friend knew him too well.

McCoy wasn’t easily distracted. “Jim, what are you doing? What have you done?”

Jim smiled, his eyes hard. “I’m not doing a damn thing. In fact . . . you have just walked into the classic Kirk disaster. Nothing to see here, I promise.”

McCoy didn’t like the bitterness in Jim’s tone. “Was Spock . . .”

“Bones, forget it. Nothing happened.” Jim stopped abruptly and swung to face the window. It almost seemed he was talking to himself. “You know, I think you and I should go listen to Christine talk about the meaning of crystalline features in Andorian sculpture and then take her out and the three of us get roaring drunk.”

Ignoring the fact that Jim rarely drank, McCoy sputtered, “That’s a plan, then.” He’d have to get Jim back to his apartment and changed, but if Jim wanted to go out and bury whatever was bothering him in a bottle, they’d do it.

 

Once again, Spock found himself walking the streets of the City. He was unsettled. Despite what he had told Jim, he didn’t understand what had just happened. He didn’t understand how it could happen. A bond had almost formed. He had been in countless mind melds with many different individuals, and he’d never felt anything like it. Even Nyota, who he was closer to, more intimate with, than anyone else, had never drawn him like this man had.

There was one individual who could possibly answer his questions. Anza, an elderly Betazoid, had been a friend, a partner, for much of his life. She was graced with an ability to see auras, human and otherwise. She had used those skills in the past to guide him during interrogations, helping him turn his powerful telepathy into, if not a weapon, then a formidable tool used to reveal secrets.

He found himself outside her apartment; a wood shingled building from mid last century and pressed the ID bar for entrance. The door opened and he stepped into the dim interior, noting the smell of incense and onions hanging in the air. Spock heard a bump from the back of the apartment and followed the sound to the kitchen. Anza stood over an old-fashioned gas stove. She looked like nothing more than a Terran witch of old, stirring a cauldron.

Anza looked up and gave him a wide smile and gestured to a barstool, snugged up to a breakfast bar. Spock sat down and watched her work, enjoying the homey smells and her relaxed movements as she ladled the contents of the pot into brightly colored ceramic bowls. She placed a bowl and a bent spoon, salvaged from antiquity, in front of Spock and joined him with her own meal.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Anza watching her friend closely, noting his dark aura. Finally, she spoke.

“Spock, I know you enjoy my cooking, but I can’t help suspecting you are here for a purpose.”

Spock put down his spoon and looked at her. “Anza, I have a problem.”

“Obviously. Out with it then, I can’t just guess.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. Historically, her guessing was quite accurate. “I met a man.” 

Anza’s laughter pealed through the small kitchen. “Yes, I imagine you might.”

Spock frowned; he didn’t consider the situation even slightly amusing. “This man has an unusual aura, unlike any I have seen. It calls to me . . .”

“Is he human or something else?” Anza was used to interrupting Spock and he never took offense.

“Human, or so I believe. The aura seemed to erupt from him, there were colors, very bright, like a Vulcan katra.”

“If he is human, it is unlikely what you saw was his katra.”

“Unlikely? Then I could have seen, experienced . . .?”

“Humans’ mental energy can be hard to detect but it is there, as much so as a Vulcan’s. Humans have souls, not katras. But their emotions have a flavor, if you will. If he was in an emotional state, it would be apparent.”

Spock frowned more deeply. “I recognized it, its shape, the hue, but I had not met him before.”

Anza tapped her chin with a wizened finger. “You have observed this, and yes, it is interesting, but why is it of concern to you?”

“Because when I touched him, I felt our minds drawing together, reaching toward each other. I am concerned that a . . . “

“A bond? Have you been intimate with him?”

“No, but I intended to until I realized our compatibility.”

Anza closed her eyes. When she finally opened them, she gave Spock a searching look.

“What do you know of about T’hy’la bonds?”

Spock made a dismissive noise. “Other than the fact that they are a myth?”

Anza was annoyed. “Don’t let ignorance prevent you from seeing the truth. They exist, wrapped in secrecy, disguised as ritual, but they exist.”

Spock waited, very still, for her to continue.

“Your grandfather had such a bond. Skon was reticent about it but never denied that Supek was his, to the eternal dismay of your grandmother, T’Pau, I might add. Strong mental abilities run in your blood, you know this. You have never lied about it to yourself. Why would you deny that which is obvious now?”

Spock suppressed a sigh. “What must I do? I do not know how to proceed.” 

“You have only one logical choice. If it truly is a T’hy’la bond, you would be in error if you do not embrace it. I would like to meet him. I would be able to tell you more if I saw you together.”

Spock bowed his head. This would not be easy. 

“Perhaps . . . perhaps it could be arranged.”

Anza smiled sweetly, “See to it, but later. You can’t afford to be distracted now. Too much is at stake.”

Spock nodded. She was correct. He needed to focus. They spent the next hour going over strategies. Jim would still be there when this was all over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, I would appreciate input!


	5. Chapter 5:  Landscapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition, exposition, exposition! Sam Taylor gets a shout out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom

Chapter 5: Landscapes

Nyota had been waiting at the Moscone Center West for two hours, Sulu hovering nervously, unable to leave until Spock made an appearance. They stood on the corner of Fourth and Howard Streets, passing the time watching the flotsam and jetsam of South of Market drift by, in all their eccentric forms. San Francisco had not lost its uniqueness over the centuries, grinding poverty sat next to overwhelming wealth, military precision nestled up to bohemian artistry. As a result, it was the perfect venue for an arts conference, a secure, historic, generous city, renowned for its hospitality and good-natured chaos.

Sulu looked down at his PADD for the twentieth time and tisked.

“Stop worrying, Hikaru, I’m sure Spock is on his way.” Nyota sounded patient even though she tapped her heeled shoe in irritation.

Suddenly, Sulu’s PADD pinged. “Spock! Where the hell are you?” Spock’s expression on the PADD’s screen was incredulous for a moment but snapped back to implacable almost immediately.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Sulu?” 

“Uh, no sir. Pardon me. Miss Uhura is with me and everything is ‘fine’.” 

“What is your location?” Spock noted the code “fine” to mean there was no discernable danger.

“We are outside Center West, waiting to enter.”

“You are on the street? Please escort Nyota inside immediately. I am ten minutes away, I will join you shortly. Spock, out.”

Sulu winced at Spock’s tone, glanced at the armed security guards ten meters away, and turned to take Nyota’s arm. His stomach dropped when he realized she wasn’t there.

He spent a tense few minutes searching the immediate area. Finally, he found her standing in an alcove inside the Center speaking quietly and intensely to a tall nondescript man. Sulu stood off to the side, watching the crowd and Nyota. When she finished her conversation, she grasped the man’s hand in farewell. Sulu shivered. Something didn’t seem right about it and he prayed Spock would show up soon. This stank of Alhamisi Uhura politics, the kind a wise man knew little of.

 

Jim hadn’t paid much attention to Christine’s presentation in the Gateway Hall. He was not interested in her or Andorian art. The austerity of both or either generally gave him a headache. He never quite warmed to Bone’s lover; she was too academic and therefore political in her opinions, for them to have any common ground. 

He’d left Bones in the hall and made his way to the concession stand, hoping to hook up with a large glass of scotch. Flirting generically with the bartender, he noticed Nyota Uhura, standing tentatively in the large foyer, searching the crowd for something or someone. Masochistically, he took a long drink of the warm scotch and walked over to her.

“Nyota Uhura! Fancy meeting you here.” Jim wasn’t slurring his words quite yet but they were beginning to run together. His smile was blinding though.

Nyota wrinkled her perfect nose as Jim breathed scotch vapors over her face and reached out a hand to steady him when he suddenly swayed into her space.

“Jim, how nice to see you again. Are you enjoying the conference?” Nyota stepped away from Jim, keeping a polite distance.

“I am not. It is an overly intellectualized politicalization of something innate to every living being’s soul and it is honestly insulting to anyone who appreciates creativity in any form.”

Nyota listened to Jim’s speech with wide eyes. She blinked a couple of times, gathering herself. She could respond diplomatically or honestly. This was the kind of intellectual dishonesty she might have expected from Kirk and after waiting on the street for Spock for two hours in six-inch heels, she wasn’t feeling particularly diplomatic.

“As someone who no doubt embraces creativity, you have shown little of it recently, or am I mistaken? Perhaps I overlooked your name or works in any of the galleries?”

Jim smiled dangerously. “Don’t mince words, tell me what you really think.”

Nyota narrowed her eyes. She spoke from a fierce protectiveness and possessiveness. “I think you are a pathetic user. I think you have wasted any talent you may have had in chasing sponsors who have virtually bent you over. I think you target those who you think have wealth and power and try to seduce them into supporting your sordid life style. I think I know who you are, and believe me, you are not worth knowing.”

Jim became immediately sober, straightening his back self-consciously. He opened his mouth to respond, when he noticed Spock standing over Nyota’s shoulder, looking nonplussed by her tirade. Of course, he probably agreed.

Spock didn’t comment, merely leaning over and whispering something in her ear. Nyota’s lips tightened. She nodded once in response.

“If you will excuse us, Mr. Kirk. We have an important engagement.” Spock took her by the arm and they turned and walked away. Spock didn’t pause but he did look over his shoulder, dark eyes briefly meeting Jim’s.

Jim stared after them, flushing with embarrassment. They looked like a matched set, thoroughbreds walking among mere mortals. Confronted with Spock and Nyota’s effortless equanimity, he knew he brought nothing of value to the table.

 

As Spock led Nyota away, he wrestled his anger into a calm he didn’t, wouldn’t feel. He felt illogically protective of Jim Kirk and her comments had hurt him as though they had been directed to him.

“Sorry, Spock. I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

“But I did and I question the necessity of you taking him to task. Surely, he has done nothing to offend you?”

Nyota rose to her own defense. “Not yet, but I promise you, he is not as vulnerable as he seems.”

“I did not think that he was but Nyota . . .” Something in Spock wanted to tell her how he felt about the man. He couldn’t, not yet. He might trust her completely, but somehow Jim Kirk was not someone he was willing to share with her.

 

G’hed had worked for Former President Alhamisi Uhura for decades. He had been brought in initially to handle situations a regular security force could not. His Rigelian blood gave him certain advantages over even a Vulcan. He had a Vulcanoid’s superior weight and strength, acute hearing and eyesight and a strong empathy. He added a resourcefulness and wiliness to do anything to further a cause he’d been paid well to embrace. These skills had served him well in the past and would have to serve him better in the immediate future.

He followed Spock and Nyota out of the reception area and into a little populated gallery. G’hed waited until the crowd thinned before he approached them under the guise of analyzing a long tempera fresco.

Spock, of course, saw him right away, guiding Nyota subtly to a corner of the large room, his eyes inviting G’hed to approach.

“Gentle beings, are you enjoying the exhibit?” G’hed was gregarious by nature.

“Indeed, it is interesting.”

“But unbalanced.” Nyota chimed in. “It’s unfortunate; the artist could have gone a completely different direction. I’ve seen similar pieces before, in Montreal. I was more impressed with the works there. This artist shows an utter lack of concern with his rivals.”

Spock shot her a surprised look.

“Its true!” Nyota smiled up at Spock, proud of her attempts at coding the conversation. 

Spock shook his head, this was quite unnecessary.

“Let us speak plainly.”

“Please!” G’hed looked irritated.

“Jordan Simon is indeed present at the conference. His past performance in Montreal notwithstanding, his new target remains unknown, and thus remains a potential danger.”

G’hed nodded at Spock. Simon was a well-known assassin, in the pay of the OEM. His botched attempt on the life of the Andorian ambassador in Montreal two weeks prior was infamous in some circles. He and Spock were expected to find him, identify his target, neutralize the situation, and deliver him to Nyota’s father. 

He was unsure why Nyota was involved at all. She and her law firm usually provided information and legal support, if necessary. Spock must be indulging her if she knew this much about their operation or perhaps her father wanted her involved for some unknown reason. 

“Where can we find him, then?”

Spock shook his head minutely. Obviously, Nyota wasn’t to be privy to everything. “At the moment, he is operating under an assumed name. We should make contact with him by 1900h.”

Nyota looked expectant but was quickly disappointed by Spock’s glare. “G’hed and I will make contact. Nyota, you will continue to attend the conference as planned, this evening’s reception, hosted by the Vulcan’s, will be attended by you, without argument.”

Spock and G’hed made plans to meet later leaving Nyota out of the loop and tapping her toe in irritation. They would not exclude her. She was quite capable of drawing Simon out and delivering him. She had a plan and they would be impressed. Nyota smiled to herself. She would attend the Vulcan reception. Spock and G’hed might be very surprised at who might be in attendance.

 

McCoy found Jim, holding up a wall, near the bar outside Gateway Hall. He looked like hell, pale, eyes glazed, body slumped as if in defeat. If anything, he looked worse than he had at his studio.

“Jesus, Jim. You look terrible. Maybe that scotch is poisoning you.”

Jim smiled grimly. “Why, doctor, thank you for your concern. I was just contemplating my future, courtesy of the lovely Miss Uhura.”

“Really? She seems like such a nice young lady.”

Jim snorted. “She’s got a tongue like a viper and made hamburger out of my ego. You can take that nice and . . . Hey, weren’t we supposed to go out drinking?”

McCoy sighed; Jim was in fine destructive form tonight. “Yes, Jim. There is the Satellite Bar on Mission or we can make the rounds of the receptions. Most of them are at the Stanford Court.”

“You know, Bones, I think someone else should pay for my drinking tonight. Let’s hit the parties.”

 

Jim and McCoy found themselves at the Tellerite reception first, without Christine, who could smell disaster brewing and had opted out. McCoy had to admit, the Tellerites knew how to party. They had reserved a small banquet room at the Stanford Court, and food and drink were literally flowing. Jim drank steadily, ignoring most of the food, even the roast enir he was so fond of. Frankly, McCoy thought the enir looked too much like the pig-like Tellerites and tried not to remember they had been cannibals just a few generations ago. 

Eventually, even Jim grew bored of the disco themed party, a rotating mirrored ball and vintage Donna Summer didn’t make his hosts or hostesses any more attractive. On a whim, he wandered out into the hall and noticed the adjacent banquet room was occupied by the unsurprisingly sedate Vulcan reception.

With his VIP chip firmly in hand, he joined the festivities. It was a fairly crowded reception, many of the races present, talking quietly, while a lovely young woman played what looked like a harp, in the corner. Jim found himself drawn in by the haunting music, and moved closer to the stage.

He was suddenly distracted by loud voices raised at one of the tables set aside for the delegates. Much to his astonishment, the argument seemed to include a familiar looking Vulcan, with sharp hawk-like features, and a human man. The man was tall and thin, holding forth emphatically about some issue.

Jim moved closer, it was a rare to see a Vulcan spitting mad. When he was able to distinguish the conversation from the hum of the room, he hiked a hip against a nearby table and crossed his arms, enjoying the show.

“You can’t deny, Ambassador Sarek, that alien presence on Earth has become a divisive point. You say you wish for humans, indeed every sentient creature, to develop independently. That means separately.” 

“Mr. Taylor, you intentionally misrepresent what I have said. I will repeat one last time in the interest of mutual understanding. All sentient creatures will find their own way. They will benefit from other cultures and it will enrich them, not force them to take on ‘alien characteristics’ as your statement suggests. Your own human society is a blend of different races and cultures, which has strengthened you. But centuries ago, your kind warred with one another precisely because of your differences, almost eradicating the human race!”

Taylor unwisely stepped into the Ambassador’s space. “Vulcan, in particular, urges us to knuckle under to her laws and mores. It is one thing to provide us with technology in return for Star Fleet becoming our intergalactic police force, it is quite another to insinuate yourself into our culture under the guise of providing advances in medicine. We know your agenda. You have already created a hybrid human/Vulcan. Will that be the new master race? What more do you have planned to subjugate us?”

The small crowd gathered around the two men gasped. A striking older woman placed a slim hand on the Vulcan’s arm. Her bright blue eyes flashed. “Sir, you speak of our son, not a faceless scientific experiment.”

Taylor crossed his arms, eyes lit with speculation. “You must be the famous Lady Amanda. Don’t be insulted, but you and your husband,” he glanced at the brooding Vulcan, “represent everything that is wrong with our society. Your son is a monster, a freak, a mutation that should be destroyed.”

Sarek actually reached for Taylor’s throat before paling and clutching his side in pain. He fell to his knees, perspiration dripping down his drawn face. Several Vulcans gathered about, one giving him a hypo in the neck which seemed to relieve his pain.

Samuel Taylor stepped away, a slight smile on his face and began backing toward the door. This had been laughably easy. Too bad Ambassador Sarek wasn’t his target. 

Taylor found himself backing right into a human woman. He turned with surprise, a disingenuous grin on his face. He knew exactly who the petite curvaceous woman was with the classic features and dark velvet eyes. She lifted her eyebrows and pulled him into the hallway.

“Why Sam, I thought you were trying to interview the Vulcan Ambassador, not kill him!” Nyota’s voice was sweet with sarcasm.

“Nyota, I would never consider such a thing. I think I might have given him a heart attack, though, that is, if he has one.”

Nyota peered around the doorway, assessing Sarek’s condition. He seemed to be recovering and she nodded with approval.

“I have it on reliable authority he has no such thing. Say,” Nyota smiled invitingly, “would you like to get out of here? Somewhere quieter?”

Taylor’s eyes widened marginally. “Well, yes I would. There is this bar . . .”

“Lead on, I’m right behind you!” Taylor took her arm, and led her out, laughing silently.

 

Jim noted Nyota had left with the journalist who had managed to completely disrupt the Vulcan reception. Maybe she and Spock weren’t so tight after all. He checked his chrono, looked around the room and was about to leave when he saw Spock stride into the room, looking like he owned it.

Jim thought this might be an opportune moment to make his escape when Spock suddenly noticed him, standing against the wall. Jim felt his stomach sink as Spock walked quickly over to him.

“Jim, what has happened?”

“Uh, Spock, it seems a human journalist verbally attacked the Vulcan Ambassador. He looked like he was having a heart attack but I think he is fine now. He and his wife just left the reception.”

Spock frowned, visibly upset. “He was mobile? And his wife? She is well?”

“Yes, I think so. They both left under their own power. Say, what’s this about? Do you know them?”

“Jim, the Ambassador and his wife are my parents.”

“God, Spock. I’m so sorry, they just left. I am sure you can catch up to them.”

Spock’s face was unreadable but Jim had a feeling there were strong emotions behind it. “I do not believe that would be welcome. I am reassured Sarek was not completely incapacitated.”

Jim didn’t understand, not by a long shot. If that had been his parents, well, he would have given anything to be with them, especially if they were hurt. But he had possibly even less pleasant news.

“Spock, it’s none of my business, but the journalist that caused Sarek’s attack just left with Nyota. He writes for the Earth’s View, I believe, his name is Taylor. Sam Taylor.”

Spock paled and grabbed Jim’s elbow as if for support. “Samuel Taylor?” He whispered disbelievingly.

Jim frowned and pulled his fingers through his hair, now completely sober. “Yes, that’s him. What’s the problem?”

Spock grabbed Jim by the elbow and pulled him out of the banquet room, propelling them down the hall at speed. Between flipping open his communicator and dodging around the Tellerite partygoers who had moved into the hall, he managed to explain, voice tight.

“Jim, Sam Taylor is really Jordan Simon, an OEM assassin. We believe his target is Nyota!”

Jim gulped and willingly followed Spock down the hall and out of the hotel at a fast clip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6:  Oils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, owns Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom
> 
> I was a bit queasy about the end of this Chapter. I might have bitten off more than I can chew.

Chapter 6: Oils

San Francisco was a changeable city, never more so than when the weather transformed itself, in a blink of an eye. Sharp sunlight became rolling fog, calm nights became storm soaked. It was early evening, dusk settling, street lights just beginning to come on. The wind blew off the Pacific Ocean, carrying the scent of brine and whipped through the tall towers sitting arrogantly on her ancient hills. The rain ran sideways across Mission, cold and stinging, bringing the smell of wet asphalt and despair. 

By the time they burst out of the Moscone’s west entrance and onto the crowded street, Jim was winded and wild eyed. The rain pelted them as they ran and Jim covered his head, dodging pedestrians.

Spock had been on his communicator constantly throughout and Jim was impressed by his ability to run, dodge the conference’s attendees and try to coordinate with someone named Sulu. Jim felt compelled to follow, Spock’s desperation bleeding through his shields.

Spock waved down a driver in a vintage black car and shoved Jim into the back seat. Panting against damp leather, Jim stared at Spock, wondering why he was there. Spock gave no clue; eyes turned inward as he balanced a PADD on his knees and gave rapid directions to the car’s driver.

Jim sat back against plush white seats and studied Spock. He was flushed green around his ears and nose, from the cold or from their rapid departure from the Vulcan reception, he couldn’t tell. He smelled of wet wool and rain. Jim had always heard Vulcans didn’t show emotion, but this one certainly did. His mouth was tight, his eyes glittered. He looked furious.

“Ok, Spock. Why am I here?”

Spock looked at him with surprise, as if he’d forgotten Jim was there. “I need you.” Spock’s voice was rough.

“Why me? Where are we going?”

“We are following Nyota. I told you. She is with a very dangerous man. We believe he is an assassin and she is his target.”

“Again, why me? And who is ‘we’?”

“Jim, I can not explain further. I do know I need you here right now. As to who ‘we’ are, we are Nyota’s family. My job is to protect her, using whatever resources are available. You are now one of my resources, as is our driver, Mr. Sulu. We are en route to meet up with another resource, G’hed, a Rigellian.”

“What do you expect me to do? I am certainly not as capable as you are to protect Nyota Uhura.”

Spock turned in his seat and studied Jim, his intensity making Jim nervous.

“I do not know what I expect you to do. I only know that some part of me needs you here, beside me. Forgive me, Jim, for putting you in this position. It is illogical . . . I want . . .” Spock’s voice trailed off.

Something inside Jim broke. He didn’t understand it but he wanted to be that man, the one by Spock’s side, backing him up, protecting him, no matter what. Jim reached across the seat and placed his hand over Spock’s. Spock’s hand was cold and dry but his fingers moved and interlaced with Jim’s. For a brief moment, Jim felt he was a part of something greater. 

Jim gave Spock’s hand a squeeze, meeting his eyes. Whatever was going to happen, Jim would be there.

 

Nyota allowed herself to be handed into a cab and whisked through downtown. When the cab stopped, in a disreputable part of the Tenderloin District, off Turk Street, Taylor took her elbow, paid the driver and guided her up cement steps and into a nondescript building, the lower levels covered in graffiti and smelling slightly of urine. Nyota wrinkled her nose at the smell of ammonia and followed Taylor past an unusable elevator, up narrow dark stairs to a third story apartment. 

She smiled to herself; she had the famous Sam Taylor, aka Jordan Simon, at bay. All that remained was for her to contact Spock or G’hed, and arrange for pick up. She was surprised, however, when Taylor kept her arm as they walked through the door and pushed her into a straight-backed chair.

The room was mostly unfurnished. The old metal chair she sat in was next to an even older wood desk, scarred from years of abuse, giving off a slight mildewed smell. On the desk was a modern computer, currently quiescent except for a slight hum. A table was shoved against the opposite wall with additional equipment she didn’t recognize. There were two doors on opposite sides of the small room, the one they entered through and the other probably a fresher. Nyota doubted Taylor was staying here; it seemed to be more on the order of a bolt-hole for him and his organization, the OEM.

Taylor still had her by the arm as if holding her in place. His grip had become bruising. Nyota was unused to rough treatment but she was used to getting what she wanted. She lifted doe eyes to Taylor’s strained face and went limp with feigned submission. She leaned into him and smiled slightly. Her mouth was soft, her eyes liquid. No man could resist her.

Sam Taylor might have been an easy mark for her wiles but Jordan Simon was not. He immediately recognized her ruse and chuckled.

“Sam, I thought we were going to a bar? This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Cut the crap, Nyota. You know very well why you’re here and who I am.”

Nyota blinked. “Remind me?”

This time Simon laughed out loud. “My gods, you have titanium balls, don’t you? Okay, we’ll play it your way. I am Jordan Simon, not Sam Taylor. You and your law firm have been trying to find me for . . . weeks.”

“Perhaps. If that is the case, it’s a good thing I found you, then.” Nyota shrugged out of his grip and stood. She straightened her coat and skirt and gracefully pulled her hair over her shoulder.

Simon looked her over with appreciation. It really was a pity he was going to have to kill her.

“Nyota,” he stepped toward her, voice low and wound his arms around her.

“Jordan, I can call you Jordan, right?” Nyota tipped her head up bringing them closer so she was pressed against his chest.

Jordan closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling her perfume. She had an almost hypnotic effect on him but he suddenly remembered she was the Vulcan’s lover. Strangely, instead of disgusting him, he found himself aroused. Perhaps before he killed her, he could show her what a man could do, rather than an alien monster.

He pulled her closer, grinding his erection against her hip. Lowering his head to her neck, he breathed warm moist air across it. Nyota arched her back, turning her head away from his mouth and sighed in pleasure. She felt him relax minutely and stepped backward out of his embrace.

Nyota kept her eyes on his face as she slowly unbuttoned her dark brown jacket, revealing a low cut ivory blouse. She turned and walked to the table, laying it on the corner. When it slipped off to the floor, she gracefully bent, fumbling slightly at the edge of the table. Simon was distracted by the sight of her pencil skirt riding up her thighs as she retrieved the jacket.

Nyota turned so she was facing Simon directly and smiled as she pointed the phaser at him.

 

The Procyon was a trendy downtown hotel, catering mostly to alien trade. It was sleek, modern, with huge atmospheric domes to accommodate almost any requirement. Jim felt strange pulling up in an antique ground car, accompanied by a liveried Japanese driver and an overdressed Vulcan aristocrat. Of course, the hotel staff didn’t bat an eye when the three of them rushed through the lobby and toward a bank of elevators.

The elevators deposited them, breathless, on the 112th floor. Spock and Sulu knew where they were going and Jim soon found himself inside a suite of rooms faced with a large tattooed Rigellian, who immediately greeted them with a sharp-toothed grin.

Jim glanced around the living area quickly, noting it was filled with high-end technology, some of which he couldn’t even guess the purpose of. He stood in the center of the room while Spock spoke to the Rigellian in rapid fire Vulcan. Sulu made himself at home, bringing Jim a hot cup of coffee and sitting on the edge of the sofa. He gestured for Jim to sit, too.

“This must seem pretty strange to you, I’ll bet.” Sulu managed to look amused.

“It’s a bit cloak and dagger, I’ll grant you.”

“That, Mr. Kirk, is an understatement.”

“Please call me Jim. I have a feeling we might be spending quite a bit of time together.”

“Okay, Jim and you can call me Sulu.” He grinned again and took a sip of his tea.

“So, Jim, how did Spock rope you into this?”

“I have no idea.” Jim raised his eyebrows. “He seems to think I can help. Damned if I know why.”

“I think you’ll find Spock’s instincts are usually pretty good. If he thinks you are valuable, I’m sure you are.”

Just then, the Rigellian paused in his conversation and looked over at Jim. Spock turned and followed his gaze and immediately continued in his clipped Vulcan. Jim thought he heard his name several times. 

Finally, they finished and Spock brought the Rigellian over to the sofa. Jim stood, still holding his coffee, unsure what to do with his hands as the Rigellian nodded to him.

“Jim, this is G’hed.” Spock’s voice was flat and monotone. Sulu looked up at him and frowned. 

“Are you all right, Spock?” Sulu stood and put his tea on a table, moving toward the Vulcan. Jim noted Spock looked stressed, even G’hed gave him a worried look.

“I am functional. I admit to being concerned about Nyota, however.”

“What was she thinking, going off with Simon?” G’hed crossed his arms, ignoring Spock’s misdirection.

“I believe she was attempting to prove she was as capable of capturing him as you and I are.”

Jim interrupted. “Wait, Nyota Uhura, a lawyer, intentionally tried to capture an assassin who even I have heard about? The one who tried to take out the Andorian ambassador in Montreal a couple of weeks ago? Is she insane?”

G’hed shot Jim an amused look. “Not insane, just competitive.”

Spock sank down on the couch and pulled Jim with him. He turned so he was speaking to Jim directly. 

“Jim, it is imperative we find her. Personal loss aside, if he harms her, it would have ramifications throughout the Federation. Earth will no longer be considered a safe haven for aliens. If the OEM can reach Alhamisi Uhura’s daughter, all our work would be for naught.”

“I get that, Spock. But I ask you again, what do you expect me to do? I am an artist and not a particularly successful one. I am nobody, certainly not in the same league as you all.”

“Precisely.”

G’hed’s eyes widened. “Oh, I understand!” 

Sulu nodded emphatically. “Right! Of course!”

Jim looked around in confusion. “Ok, gentlemen, fill me in?”

“Jim, Simon does not know you. You can approach him safely without him being any wiser. We three, are known agents, we can not get near him without imperiling Nyota.”

Jim didn’t know if he felt disappointed and used or flattered that Spock thought he could help. Suddenly, he felt a warm wash of confidence and affection. He looked down and realized Spock had laid his hand lightly on his knee. Damn Vulcan was projecting right into his head. He wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

Spock tilted his head, a tiny smile playing across his face. “You might be surprised what I can do with the right provocation.”

Neither G’hed nor Sulu seemed interested in his non sequitur. All were distracted by a soft chime.

Spock rose but G’hed took a large hand and pushed him back down onto the couch. Sulu went to the suite door, spoke quietly through the COM and ushered in an older Betazoid woman. She smiled as she greeted everyone by name but walked up to Jim and touched his jaw.

“Anza, this is Jim Kirk.” Spock looked relieved to see her.

Anza’s hand was warm against Jim’s face. She held his face gently, on the edge of her fingertips then let her hand drift back to her side. “So I gathered,” she said kindly. She flicked a glance at Spock. “By the way, you look like hell.”

“Thank you, Anza, it is a pleasure to see you as well.”

“So, Nyota has managed to jump in the deep end. Are we certain she is with Jordan Simon?”

“Jim observed her leaving the Vulcan reception at the Stanford Court with him.”

“Do we know where they went?”

Sulu chimed in, “There are several possibilities, we are hoping they haven’t left the city. Until she makes contact, if she can make contact, we can’t be sure.”

“Spock.” Anza said his name like a question.

“She is alive, somewhat smug and probably overconfident.”

The others nodded like they understood. It suddenly dawned on Jim that Spock was in empathic contact with her.

Jim shook his head to clear an uncomfortable feeling of jealousy. Spock owed him nothing. If he felt Nyota’s emotions, that was between them. 

Looking around the room, he settled on Anza. She was a large woman with jet-black hair shot with silver, a penchant for heavy jewelry and flowing dresses. Her eyes were typically Betazoid, large, expressive, and black. She seemed formidable but her low voice was calm and warm.

She smiled at Jim, eyes bright, glancing between him and Spock. Spock frowned in her direction, unwilling to be distracted from the matter at hand. Jim suspected she saw something important but wasn’t ready to share it.

G’hed brought his arm around her and grinned. “What have you got for us, Milady?”

“An address, old friend. She might be there, she might not.”

Spock moved to stand, Sulu right behind him. “What are we waiting for?”

Spock nodded at Anza. “A way in, a distraction, an opportunity.”

“Patience. We must wait for Nyota. This is her game now, whether we like it or not. If you move on Simon now, you very likely will endanger her. Sit. Drink some tea, wait for her to contact us.”

Spock drew in a painful breath, causing Sulu to check him over worriedly.

“And Spock,” Anza leaned forward, voice low and pitched so just he and Jim could hear. “Stop fighting. It is as I thought, a T’hy’la bond. The more you box it in, the more exhausting the effort.”

She nodded at Jim. “You don’t understand yet, but it will become your job to keep him on an even keel. Spock will need every ounce of your strength.”

“Why, what is happening?” Jim looked over at Spock who was shaking his head, eyes closed.

“Ah, it is his Time. The Time of Mating.”

“What the hell?”

“And you Jim, are his mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts.


	7. Tempera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns own Star Trek. I make no profit there from.

Chapter 7: Tempera

Jim loved women. He loved how they looked, how they smelled, how they moved, how their skin felt under his ever-curious hands. He remembered Carol Marcus, from high school, petite, blonde, legs a mile long and so tiny, he could span her waist with his hands. He’d almost married her, but thankfully she had more sense than that.

Jim loved men, too. Generally he preferred them big and burly, like the shot putter on the track team in college. He’d been a gentle giant of a man, focused on his affection and surprised by his passion. Jim was astonished at how much he had enjoyed being dominated by Michael, and how much he had enjoyed dominating him. 

Occasionally, Jim had to admit to enjoying a man who was classically tall, dark, and handsome. Dashing and mysterious helped, as did an air of danger. Unfortunately, that described Spock to a “T”.

The more time Jim spent with Spock, the more he realized that he was far from the debonair man about town that his servants, his accoutrements, his cars, suggested. On close examination, Spock was revealed. He was really a slightly awkward man, somewhat unsure of himself. This revelation only succeeded in sucking Jim in harder and faster.

And Jim was beginning to suspect Spock needed him far more than he had let on. It was in the vulnerable way he leaned into him, the desperate note in his voice when he explained his plans for rescuing Nyota, the anxious way he sat, close to Jim as though drawing in an essential warmth. This morning, when they began that fatal dance toward each other in Jim’s studio, Jim had thought he was a losing proposition. In fact, Spock had begun a feint, a denial, a step forward and backward, an unacknowledged bridge being built between them.

As compelling as this all was, a mate? Jim didn’t know what this “Time” was all about, but he did understand that he was supposed to provide Spock with something, indefinable at present but powerful. Jim was surprisingly calm about the prospect, at least until it was explained in less vague terms.

Jim looked at Spock, who was staring at his hands, loosely clasped in front of him, unwilling to meet Jim’s eyes. Jim frowned and turned to face Anza. Her expression was tense, anxious. She seemed to see right inside Jim, all his doubts and insecurities revealed. She was terrifying.

“Wait, how can I be his mate?” Jim pitched his voice softly so only Anza and Spock could hear him. G’hed and Sulu had moved to the other side of the room, checking what looked like a communications system.

“You have a spontaneously occurring bond. Spock can explain later, but surely you have noticed? You sense his emotions; you are uncharacteristically focused on and attracted to him. It is unusual between humans and Vulcans but not unheard of.”

“But mate? As in marriage?”

Anza relaxed a bit and smiled. “Yes and no. That would be up to you. The bond is the bond. What it becomes is a choice. But you will have to be . . .”

“Kroykah! That is enough, Anza!” Spock roused himself and straightened with a snap of bone and sinew.

“Don’t be an idiot, Spock. You know what must be done and when. You have some time left but not a great deal.”

Jim turned with surprise at the guttural sound coming from Spock, inarticulate and pained. Something inside him wanted to soothe him but as quickly as the thought struck him, they were drawn by G’hed’s shout. Nyota had made contact.

 

Nyota hiked a slim hip against the table, supporting the hand holding the phaser with her elbow. She watched Simon carefully; he had an air of waiting about him, as though he knew she would make a mistake, soon.

“Nyota, don’t be ridiculous, put the phaser down.” Simon calculated the distance between them and his chances of taking her down.

“Oh, Jordan, I can’t. It gives me a distinct advantage, don’t you think? I suspect you’ll be unforgiving. Besides, I need to deliver you to some old friends, this phaser makes it all possible.”

Nyota reached behind her, fumbling slightly with her free hand in the coat, sitting precariously on the edge of the table. She managed to hit the button on her communicator once before the coat slipped off the table and fell to the floor. Her communicator rolled out, giving a soft beep. For a few precious seconds, her eyes left Simon’s.

For Simon, those few seconds were enough. He moved across the floor with a speed born of desperation and very quickly had her phaser in a vise like grip, pointed toward the ceiling. 

Nyota was strong and lithe for a small woman but was no match for Simon’s strength and speed. He had the phaser in hand within a couple of seconds and her twisted over the table, arm wrenched up behind her shoulder, immobile. He stepped back and ground the communicator under his heel.

“Unforgiving? You have no idea.”

 

Nyota’s would be rescuers gathered around the communications terminal, jockeying for space. Jim thought it was mildly amusing as they tried to avoid crashing into each other but couldn’t avoid a frisson of fear. He might not like Nyota but he was now as invested as they were in finding her location and getting her home safe.

“Damn it!” Sulu’s voice rang across the room. “Her signal terminated!”

“Wait.” G’hed’s fingers flew across the terminal, coordinating, triangulating information too fast for Jim to follow. “Got her!”

An address appeared on the monitor and everyone looked at Anza. Spock lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“Yes. That’s the address I have.” Anza looked grim.

Jim looked around at their tense faces. “Well?”

Sulu bolted for his coat. “I have the flitter. It will be faster than the Lincoln.”

G’hed pinned Anza with a glance. “You’ll stay here. We will be back with Nyota, or not, within the hour.”

Anza looked like she wanted to protest, she wasn’t thrilled with sending any of them into the fray, particularly Spock, who wasn’t at one hundred percent. She sighed, giving up. Reading Simon wasn’t going to be the issue, physically rescuing Nyota was.

The ride into the Tenderloin was fast and tense. Jim found himself sandwiched between G’hed and Spock, the collective heat radiating off of the Vulcanoid bodies, causing him to sweat. G’hed and Spock were back to their rapid fire Vulcan which Jim didn’t understand. He was annoyed when he saw Sulu occasionally nod in understanding.

Finally, Sulu pulled them up to the back of a tenement building, sprawling in disrepair on Turk St. Spock grasped Jim’s hand, hauling him roughly out of the flitter and onto the broken sidewalk. Sulu dowsed the lights and the four of them huddled around the vague blue light of G’hed’s PADD. Within a couple of seconds, G’hed had the location of the apartment Nyota had transmitted from.

Spock turned unhappily to Jim. “Fourth floor, second apartment from the front.” He shoved a phaser, set to heavy stun, into Jim’s hand. “I assume you know how to use this.”

Jim nodded. He’d spent some time on the firing range with Bones. He’d never fired one at a person but he had no doubt he could.

“So, what is the plan?”

“Simple is best. Knock on the door and ask for Jordan Simon. You are Jim Kirk, sent by Caesar Ortiz. That is a code name for one of the OEM’s affiliates. He will be suspicious but will open the door. Be prepared to stun him immediately.” Spock’s hand drifted to Jim’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Be careful, Jim.”

Jim shook his head. Of course, he would be careful. He might be insane for agreeing to this, but cautious he would be, if only to pry Spock’s secrets out of him, later.

 

Jim stood at the dingy door of the apartment. The hallway smelled stale and desperate. Jim felt the same. He hit the COMM button with more strength than necessary, brushing damp hair from his eyes.

“Jim Kirk, here for Caesar Ortiz. Let me in.”

Jim could almost feel Simon on the other side of the door, thinking. He said a silent prayer to a god he no longer believed in and hit the COMM button again.

This time, the door opened. Jim had a second of hesitation as he took in the dour stripped room and the thin perspiring man before him. Nyota was in Simon’s arms, used as a shield against Jim’s phaser. Jim could have stunned them both but hesitated for a second.

His hesitation cost him precious seconds, which Simon used to his advantage. As Jim stepped into the room, he was caught in a transporter beam, spiriting him, Nyota and Simon away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please give a shout if you like it!


	8. chapter 8:  Pen and Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount owns Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Chapter 8: Pen and Ink

Jim, Simon and Nyota arrived in a heap, a flurry of motion, on soft ground. Jim had no time to ascertain where they were; realizing he’d lost his phaser, he settled into a crouch and threw himself in the general direction of Simon’s silhouette, pushing Nyota to the side.

Jim knew how to fight. He was not some suburban frat boy, flailing with fists. He understood his weight and strength, knew how to throw a punch, how to kick the manhood out of someone, how to rake any available skin with whatever he had available, nails, teeth, a knife, if one was at ready. Simon must have had similar training; he was lighter and less agile than Jim but knew how to use his body.

Within seconds, Simon had the business end of Nyota’s phaser pointed at Jim’s temple. Nyota had used every opportunity to kick him with her sharp pointed shoes but lacked the balance and thrust to do any real damage. They were caught, held tight in Simon’s web.

“Back up.” Simon was somewhat breathless but managed to drive them back toward a round metal pen.

Angling for time, Nyota spoke roughly. “Where are we? What are you doing?”

“Not that it will help you but you are at Bay Meadows Racetrack. You will stay here until I can find a safe place to stow you.”

Jim and Nyota backed into a round pen, the smooth metal walls rising at least twenty meters straight up around them. Simon pushed the metal door closed and fastened it from the outside.

Jim and Nyota could hear Simon speaking softly to someone on a communicator and then heard the telltale sound of a transporter beam. They were alone.

Jim ran his hands up the smooth metallic sides of the pen. The pen was thirty meters across and opened up to the dark sky. “What is Bay Meadows?”

“An abandoned thoroughbred racetrack, south of San Francisco. No one has used it for at least ten years. It is scheduled for demolition within the month.”

Jim looked at Nyota, noting her disheveled appearance. “And you know this how?”

Nyota shrugged elegantly. “My firm has a case with the bankrupt developers. I’ve seen it on holovids.”

“Did the holovids give any indication as to how to get out of here?”

Nyota pinned Jim with a look. “Explain to me exactly why you are here? Last time I saw you, you were marinating in a bottle of scotch at the conference.”

Jim considered his response. “Your boyfriend decided that since Simon didn’t know me, I would make a great goat. Personally, I am feeling more like a sacrificial lamb.”

Nyota frowned. “Spock sent you to rescue me? He must have lost his mind.”

“Thanks. That is one way to put it.” Jim wasn’t about to share the conversation about Spock’s ‘Time’. He walked to the door and shook it, noting it was secured from the outside with no way to access the lock. 

“Can’t you just access Spock’s brain and tell him where we are?”

Nyota gave him a dirty look. “I don’t know what you think you know about Vulcan telepathy but I can assure you, Spock and I don’t come with locator devices.”

“Too bad.” Jim continued to play with the metal door, trying to ignore the feeling that Nyota was not being completely truthful.

“Look, Kirk, my operatives can trace the transporter signal, assuming they were nearby. They’ll find us eventually. Until then, we’ll just have to figure out how to get along.”

“Fat chance.” Jim gave the door a final shake and sat down against the round metal wall and prayed for rescue before he killed Nyota.

 

Spock and Sulu bent over G’hed’s PADD, following Jim’s signature through the apartment building. When the PADD indicated the transporter beam, the swearing in five languages could have been heard by a casual passerby.

G’hed and Sulu looked at each other in horror and quickly bundled a protesting Spock into the flitter. They arrived at the Procyon in record time, dragging Spock through lobby, the elevators, and down the corridor to their suite of rooms.

Anza greeted them at the door and took one look at Spock and pushed him into one of the bedrooms. She didn’t have to say a word. She simply pointed at one of the queen-sized beds, situated side by side and waited for Spock to lie down.

“Anza, Jim and Nyota have been taken. I must . . .”

“You must nothing. Rest, meditate, sleep. You are of no use to us right now. Stay!” 

Spock tried to protest but seeing her expression, lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

Anza closed the door quietly behind her and faced Sulu and G’hed.

“What the hell? How did you loose Nyota and Kirk? Not only have you defeated this entire mission and endangered their lives but Spock is now two steps away from completely losing his hold on reality! How did this go so badly?”

Both G’hed and Sulu looked at their feet in abject despair. The unbeatable team was beaten, stymied by one man. They had failed Nyota, Kirk, Spock and more importantly, Alhamisi Uhura. This couldn’t have gone worse.

G’hed walked resolutely to the bank of computers in the main suite and hooked his PADD into the mainframe. He prayed to the old Ghods that he had captured the signature of the transporter beam, the source and the ultimate destination. Failure at this point, would not be tolerated.

Anza ground her teeth as Sulu tried to find something to do. Ideally, she should dispatch Spock before he became a danger, ascertain Nyota’s location and liberate her and kill Kirk if he was still alive. Sulu and G’hed would be left up to the former Federation President Uhura’s discretion. 

She would do none of those things, however. She had too great affection for Spock to kill him and of course that meant that Kirk must survive as well. Anza did indulge in a brief revenge fantasy regarding Simon and yes, Sulu and G’hed. Idiots.

 

Spock tossed and turned in the wide bed, first hot then cold. He drifted into an exhausted sleep born of hours of staving off the fevers of the Pon Farr. His body fell into a deceptively relaxed sleep and he began to dream.

He strode across the Forge, moisture pressing on his skin. A rare thunderstorm passed through the atmosphere, the humidity coating his skin like a cloak. The waneti flowers bloomed at his feet, softening the harsh lines of the Forge, cloaking it in a soft white that reminded him of snow.

Despite the cool breeze and soft rain against his face, he found himself thirsty. Thirst is an instinct, relentless and powerful. It drove him, it’s satisfaction merciless. He wasn’t sure what or where he was driven too, just that he must obey his body’s demands.

On a hill, covered by sand and granite, he saw an apparition. It was a figure, slight and cloaked against the storm, seemingly waiting for him. He staggered toward it understanding instinctively it would quench his thirst.

When he came close enough, he recognized the figure as Nyota, sillouetted in stark relief against the stormy sky. She stood resolute if not welcoming. He reached for her hand and shuddered in relief at her cool clasp. She looked up at him with resignation and he pulled her into his arms, feeling her breasts pressing against his chest, her soft thighs canted against his.

He felt a storm build inside him, whipping his mind into a maelstrom. He reached for her mentally, emotionally, physically and felt . . . nothing. No response, no passion, no desire to match his burning. She was merely a cool sheath. He knew she could not contain his passion. She was willing but he could breed an animal for all the relief it would give him.

Still, she offered something. He rutted against her, feeling bile rise in his throat. He cared for her deeply, possibly even loved her, but some essential part of him was repulsed. It was wrong. She was wrong. He didn’t want her. 

He pushed her away. He didn’t mean to be rough but she sprawled on the rocks, graceless and he wasn’t surprised. He frowned and offered his hand to help her to her feet. She ignored it and scrambled, finally standing before him, chin held high, eyes defiant.

“I am not what you want. I’ve never been what you want. You bastard.”

He couldn’t even draw on pity. He was blank, empty. He couldn’t even remember how he felt when he held her in his arms the last time.

Giving himself a mental shake, he turned and strode across the Forge, watching the waneti flowers shrivel beneath his feet. He vaguely realized he was dreaming but couldn’t deny the truth of what he had just learned.

 

Nyota had been dozing, head leaning against the round pen. It had originally been designed to exercise horses and still had the smell of sawdust and manure. She shuddered in disgust. There was something so alien about the natural world, the smell of sweat, desperation and desire. She preferred the clean antiseptic lines of technology. In some ways, she believed she was a better Vulcan than Spock who too frequently led with his baser instincts, passion, compassion, and his intellect polluted with human frailties. 

Suddenly, she woke fully, feeling a flush of lust, quickly quenched. She felt the shadow of Spock’s mind on the edge of hers, pushing hard into her softer center. She gathered mental shields born of a decade of living with a telepath and pushed hard. It was as if she had been underwater and pushed to the surface, air clean and rare.

He was gone, not a whisper left. Whatever had been between them, a nascent bond, was ground to dust. She felt free, relieved and was surprised. She had spent so much time building something between them and was horrified at how light she felt when the last vestiges evaporated like so much smoke.

Nyota shook her head, clearing her mind and looked at the man sharing her metal prison. Jim Kirk was standing in a shaft of artificial light from the track, night finally having fallen. He was silvered by the overhead lamps, which put his features in sharp relief. She saw something there, compelling, important somehow. After a moment, she realized she was seeing him as Spock did, strong, vibrant, full of passion and light. Oh, the light. It swept around him, sparking the air around him in colors she’d never seen before. 

She closed her eyes, fighting tears. As part of her rejoiced at being freed from Spock, another part coiled in fury that this was what he saw, what he wanted, what he needed. Another part of her wanted to strike Kirk and still, make him her own. She opened her eyes, standing. She didn’t have Spock. But neither would Kirk. She’d make sure of it.


	9. Old Masters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount owns Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.

Chapter 9: Old Masters

Alhamisi Uhura stepped out onto the daka porch of his farmhouse and looked out over Lake Victoria. Mfangano Island was home to him and a fishing camp. It had been a popular tourist destination several years ago where the well to do photographed hippos and enjoyed the lake’s sparkling blue waters. 

In modern times, it had an undeserved reputation as an unsavory destination because of the long history of civil unrest in the area. Now, of course, it was relatively quiet, his farm surrounded by several less luxurious homes carved out of the rocky soil. Alhamisi found it restful in his retirement and the tranquil days passed without drama.

It was a secure home. Technology allowed him to keep his finger in every pie he wished to and provided a safe haven for him and his family. In out-lying houses, he could name a dozen relatives, grandchildren, nephews and nieces, cousins, friends. 

He was known for his democratic ideals. He turned no one down who needed him unless their views were so exclusive that they created a security risk. Thus, his family had broadened to include Andorians, Orions, Rigelians, who he had met in his travels and would not or could not return home. They were drawn to this peaceful place, a sanctuary of sorts for outcasts, misfits of society, coming together under his umbrella of safety.

Although he rarely left his enclave, he kept in contact with friends and family who were scattered around the planet. He thought frequently about one in particular, who he was quite fond of. That son of Vulcan and Earth, a unique being who had become part of his family; he would do almost anything for Spock. In fact, he had given him his most precious child. 

Nyota was so like her mother; bright like the star she was named for. Spock had guarded her and protected her well for many years. He supposed it was typical of an aging parent to want them closer but he also took tremendous pride in what Nyota had achieved, as a lawyer and as a woman. Spock had his life as well, working surreptitiously for Alhamisi, who still kept his network of information humming, providing security to old cohorts.

A warm breeze swept up from the lake, bringing a tropical squall that chased most creatures inside. He alone remained unaffected by the storm, a solitary figure unmoving under the curiously yellow sky. Despite the humid air, he shivered, laughing at his own disquiet. 

Jenda stepped silently onto the porch behind him and cleared her throat. Alhamisi looked over his shoulder and smiled at her coy formality. She had been with him for over twenty years, her beauty aging her gracefully. Her close-cropped hair was shot with silver now, her dark skin creased with lines, some of worry, most of laughter. They were friends, lovers, and family. 

Jenda had been the voice of reason when he had been the President of the Federation, sometimes the only voice that stood behind him during those long acrimonious years when he fought to make Earth an equal among giants. His detractors never understood that their exclusive, anti-alien agendas would only isolate them from trade and protection offered by the founding Federation members. Sometimes it seemed as if he alone was unthreatened by Vulcaniod strength and intelligence, by Orion engineering, by Andorian weaponry. He saw these races as equal partners who would strengthen Earth, not dominate it.

Alhamisi’s critics endlessly characterized him as a sycophant, trying to curry favor with aliens. In fact, his hard line advocacy for including humans in Federation politics had paved the way for a human dominated Starfleet, the scientific and military arm of all the Federation represented to non-member worlds. Even the pacifist Vulcans had eventually seen the logic of such a force. 

He shook his head, his wool gathering non-responsive to Jenda’s silent question.

“What, my love?”

“I don’t wish to disturb you.”

“Ah, my old brain is just refighting battles won eons ago. What do you need?”

“Anza needs to speak with you.”

Alhamisi frowned. Anza never needed to speak to anyone. She was quite capable of making her own decisions though, admittedly, the situation with Jordan Simon might be becoming troublesome.

He nodded and draped an arm around Jenda’s shoulders and proceeded into the house. Jenda left him at the door to his study but he suspected she remained just outside, out of curiosity and protectiveness. He fumbled the controls for the screen and immediately Anza’s worn face appeared. This didn’t look like it was good news.

“Anza, always a pleasure, but what is wrong?”

“Alhamisi,” Anza bowed her head briefly in an age-old token of respect for this most venerated man. “Jordan Simon has taken Nyota and another human male, to an unknown location. G’hed, Spock and Sulu are in the process of ascertaining the locale, we should be able to move on it inside of the hour.”

Alhamisi went white around his lips. He had a million questions, mostly with respect to how this had happened but with steel-like resolve, focused on the immediate. 

“What resources do you require to resolve this?”

“None as yet. We are utilizing the technology available and, of course, Spock is attempting to locate her through less traditional means.”

Alhamisi took a deep breath. He almost felt sorry for Simon if Spock felt Nyota was threatened. But there were other matters.

“What, if anything, has the OEM had to say?” They were the real danger. If they actually acquired custody of Nyota, they would have a powerful bargaining chip they could use not only with Alhamisi but several of his well-placed associates.

“There is no word from them. At this point, we don’t believe they know Simon has her.”

Alhamisi swore colorfully under his breath. Simon was just arrogant and stupid enough to try to hold her on his own, without OEM involvement. That could be a huge advantage however.

He looked back to the screen. “We will take over monitoring the OEM from here. You focus on finding Nyota. I can’t tell you what would happen if she were injured. I will simply say, no matter what, I want Simon brought to our facility in London when this is concluded. Ideally, alive.”

Anza blinked and nodded and the screen went black. Alhamisi stared blankly for a moment, hands fisted at his side. He walked over to the French doors leading out to the veranda and watched the storm come barreling across the lake. He didn’t jump when Jenda slipped behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face in his still powerful shoulder.

Lightning ripped across the sky and the thunder boomed, shaking the wood frame of the old house. Alhamisi thought it a particularly apt analogy to his feelings. The storm wasn’t a metaphor for trouble. He was trouble.

 

The old racetrack at Bay Meadows was getting colder by the minute. Jim noticed Nyota shivering in her light suit and finally, with a sigh, removed his denim jacket, holding it out on his fingertips toward her. Nyota shook her head and curled tighter into the metal wall of the round pen, tucking her feet neatly beneath her. 

She looked like a cat, watching and appraising him with those dark lustrous eyes. Nyota pulled her jacket more tightly around her.

“Look, Jim. We’re going to be stuck here for a while; we might as well try to get along. Why don’t you tell me how you managed to hook up with Spock?”

Jim mentally choked and stalled. “You mean . . . how did I get roped into rescuing you?”

Nyota smiled, Jim thought it looked fake. “Of course.”

“Well, I ran into him at the Vulcan reception, you had just left with that journalist fellow, who I guess is an assassin . . . why’d you do that anyway?” Jim was nothing if not the master of misdirection.

“I knew I could take him down, so I did. G’hed, I assume you met Spock’s Rigelian partner, and Spock shouldn’t have all the fun.”

Jim looked at her with disbelief. He didn’t care if she was the second coming of Princess Leia, there was no way she was in the same league with Spock and G’hed, even with her father’s wealth and influence behind her.

For a moment, Nyota’s eyes hardened. Clearly, Kirk underestimated her, just like every man she knew. Quickly, she shuttered her expression, even if it was unlikely Jim would notice her brief lapse.

“Jim, you didn’t answer my question.” Her mouth curved into a smile.

Jim thought crocodiles looked less dangerous. “Spock realized I had seen Sarek’s collapse and after I filled him in, I explained I’d seen you leave with Simon. The rest is a blur. The next thing I knew I was at a suite in the Procyon, meeting the rest of your friends. Spock thought that since Simon didn’t know me, I would be the best person to make contact while they flanked him in the apartment.”

Privately, Nyota was a little irritated that Spock hadn’t come after her himself. Then, there was the small matter of Kirk himself. She had seen his katra, or whatever it was, briefly, as though through Spock’s eyes. It was fading; she only got the vaguest impression of it now, cut off from Spock’s telepathy as she was.

There was definitely something there between them, a relationship, and a communion of sorts. The only way she knew to prevent it from growing was to either kill Kirk or turn him away from Spock. The latter was far less messy.

“You know, that was terribly brave of you. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you endangered your life for me. I think I was wrong about you.”

Jim mentally rolled his eyes. The next thing she’d do was ask him to keep her warm.

“I am getting cold. Maybe you can sit by me and we can share your jacket?”

Jim couldn’t stop the snort.

“Did you say something, Jim?”

“Uh, no Miss Uhura. Please take my jacket, I want to check the walls one more time.”

“Nyota, please.” She pouted slightly but considered he hadn’t said no. Nyota drew the jacket around her shoulders and watched silently as Jim made another hopeless walk around the pen, feeling the seams in the walls, shaking the door again with frustration. He looked up. The walls were twenty meters. Even if he put her on his shoulders, she wouldn’t reach the top rim of the pen. 

“Arghh!” Nyota’s squeak immediately drew his attention. She was curled into a ball pointing at a shadow moving across the dirt floor. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“A rat!” Nyota’s voice was a low growl of horror. Jim saw the small rodent dash around the edge of the pen and disappear under the wall.

“Oh, my god! That’s it!”

“That’s what? It’s a rat!”

“I can see that but look where it went! It went under the wall!”

“Seriously, Jim? You think we’ll fit through a rodent hole?”

“Nope, but with a bit of digging you just might be able to get under the wall. Hand over those high heels, and let’s make a hole. This dirt is soft. We’ll go under.”

Nyota shook her head but got to her feet. Walking over to the soft ground, she handed Jim one of her shoes and started to dig beside him. He was right, the dirt was very soft and the lower edge of the wall was already in view. She smiled grimly. She was going to get out of here. With or without Jim.

 

Spock was cold. Despite that, he threw the covers off of the hotel bed and got to his feet. He ran his hands nervously through his hair and noted Anza was right. He did feel more focused after some sleep. 

Anza looked up when he came through the door and nodded at Sulu, who immediately brought him a cup of tea. Spock barely acknowledged him as he strode over to G’hed who was running several programs simultaneously on their computer.

“Spock, I spoke to Alhamisi.” Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look at Anza. “He is taking over monitoring the OEM and told us to concentrate on finding Nyota, by every means necessary.”

Spock acknowledged this with a sigh and left G’hed to his work, and sat down on the couch across from Anza.

“Can you help me?”

“Of course.” Anza took Spock’s tea and carefully placed it out of the way on the side table and scooted her chair closer so they were only a few centimeters apart, facing each other.

Spock gently placed his fingers on her face, the pads seeking her psi points unerringly. Anza experienced a sudden rush of warmth and felt Spock just at the edge of her thoughts.

She focused on Jim, which surprised Spock. She traced the energy flowing between them, redirecting it back to him. He understood that his bond with Nyota was gone, he couldn’t find them that way. However, with her absence in his mind, the t’hyla bond was that much stronger and he followed it doggedly to its source.

When he felt the cool brush of Jim’s mind, there was a flash of lust. He was momentarily embarrassed that Anza must have experienced it as well, but was too distracted to notice her amusement. She rather enjoyed the heat and tingling from the beginning of Spock’s pon farr.

What was between them wasn’t yet strong enough for Spock to contact Jim’s mind. He could vaguely sense what he was thinking and feeling. He was definitely getting the idea that Jim was irritated, probably at Nyota. There was also the sharp sensation of fear and betrayal, as though Nyota was doing or going to do something that would put Jim in peril. Spock fought down fierce anger as illogical and counterproductive and focused instead on the physical sensations Jim was experiencing, evidence of his whereabouts.

It was dark and cold where Jim and Nyota were. He felt cool metal and soft dirt under Jim’s hands, a hole. The smell of an abandoned barn tapped on his memory. Something about horses. He could almost access Jim’s thoughts. Just a bit more, a memory of going to the racetrack. That had to be Jim’s. His father a warm presence, the excitement of watching a race, the joy in the beauty of the horses, the smell of the crowd, the sound of the . . .

Spock pulled his mind out of the meld with haste. “G’hed, is there a racetrack in San Francisco?”

G’hed’s hands flew over a modified keyboard. “No . . . but there is an abandoned track in San Mateo.”

“That’s it, then!” Spock gave Anza a rare smile. They had them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you if you have any comments.


	10. chapter 10:  Venduta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns own Star Trek. I make no profit therefrom.
> 
> So, Jim and Spock finally get back together, McCoy reappears, Nyota finds out the truth and grows up and the pater familia returns.

Chapter 10: Veduta

Nyota wriggled out of the hole brushing dirt and wood shavings from her skirt. The suit was ruined, torn by the metal edge of the round pen. Her favorite 1000 credit Tahari outfit was just another causality. She sighed and looked down at the hole. Jim’s broad shoulders would never fit through it. 

Nyota was now faced with a decision. If she left Jim here, Simon would either try to use him as a hostage or in a fit of pique, kill him. As much as it would suit her plans, faced with the inevitable, she just couldn’t do it.

Jim stood on the other side of the metal wall and considered what to do next. Hands on hips, he stared at the hole for a few moments.

“Nyota! Are you OK?”

Nyota frowned at the voice behind the metal wall. “Destroyed my suit, but all in a day’s work. Jim, throw my shoes over the top.”

“What, you are going to hike out of here in six inch heels?”

“Hardly.”

Jim lobbed the shoes over the twenty-meter wall and heard the satisfying sound of Nyota swearing under her breath as she dodged the hail of footwear.

“Damn you, Kirk! That could have hurt.”

Jim smiled to himself; at least someone was getting what they deserved out of this.

It was quiet on the other side for a few minutes and Jim began to get nervous. He really didn’t want to be left here for Simon and his friends to find.

Suddenly, he heard Nyota’s voice, low and quiet. “Jim! I see lights coming from the track, heading this way.”

Jim had only a few moments to consider his next action but it seemed the only reasonable course to take.

“Nyota!” Jim’s voice was a hiss. “Get out of here! Get help and come back when you can!”

Jim could almost hear the wheels in Nyota’s head turning.

“No! I can get you out, wait . . .”

Jim could now hear the soft whir of air cars in the distance. He pressed his palms against the cold metal wall. “Go, please! Simon wants you, not me. All this will be for nothing if you don’t go now! Come on!”

Nyota pushed against the wall. “Jim, you might not believe me, but I can’t leave you to him. I’ll be back with help, I swear it.”

Jim leaned his forehead wearily against the wall. Spock would kill him if she came to harm.

 

Alhamisi Uhura paced under the high ceiling of his study, ignoring the whir of the overhead fan moving stifling air around the room. Nyota had been taken by Jordan Simon, who by anyone’s definition was an unpredictable loose cannon. He had to trust his operatives to get her out safely. 

Certainly Anza knew the protocols and would make the right decisions. Spock would also but having not heard from him, Alhamisi was beginning to get suspicious. There was something off about the situation. Normally, Spock would have been in communication, if only just to reassure Alhamisi. But there was nothing but silence from his end.

Perhaps it had something to do with the human taken with Nyota. Jim Kirk was an artist at the conference. Perhaps Nyota had taken him as a lover. Perhaps Spock was experiencing an unVulcanlike jealousy. Perhaps . . . No, Alhamisi didn’t believe that for a second.

He called up Kirk’s profile on his computer and sank heavily into his chair, studying the screen carefully. Kirk was a successful artist, brilliant even, but seemed recently to have fallen on hard times. His work still sold but he hadn’t produced anything of significance for a couple of years.

Why? Alhamisi dug deeper. Kirk’s work had dropped off two years ago, about the time his parents had been killed on the Excalibur. He’d bounced around from sponsor to sponsor, literally sleeping his way to curry favor. Alhamisi grimaced. Grief gave one many opportunities to make poor choices. Kirk’s choice of ‘sponsors’ reflected that. He pulled up a picture of Kirk and shook his head sadly. He was a beautiful man, fine boned with tawny eyes. He was also not Nyota’s type, at all.

No, Spock’s silence wasn’t based on jealousy. But maybe it was something else entirely. Alhamisi called up Spock’s last physical. He wasn’t a doctor but he could read, especially when he knew what to look for. The blood tests were four months ago but had the same markers present six years ago when Spock had begun his first Pon Farr.

The crash of Alhamisi’s fist on his desk brought Jenda at a run.

“God damn it! He knew! He KNEW! And he didn’t tell anyone. That IDIOT! I’ll string him up by his ears, I’ll . . .”

Jenda placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. He had no business getting this wrought up.

“Alhamisi, tell me. What has happened?”

“Spock happened. He’s in Pon Farr. He must have known.”

Jenda looked at Alhamisi with wide eyes. “I don’t understand. What has this to do with Nyota?”

“Jenda, he is compromised, physically and emotionally. If he feels the bond threatened, he will protect it at all costs, without judgment, without any thought to the consequences. He could kill Simon, any of our operatives, OEM personnel, but more importantly, Nyota, who he will be entirely fixated on.”

“Are you sure they are bonded?”

“Nothing else would trigger the Pon Farr at this point in the process except a bond mate. It’s been lying in wait for him for months; something has acted as a catalyst to bring it to the forefront. That has to be his bond mate.”

Jenda put her hands on Alhamisi’s shoulders and squeezed. “I don’t understand but I trust Spock to bring her home safely, no matter his condition.”

“Jenda, I pray you are right.”

 

The flitter touched down, sheltered by the grand stands at Bay Meadows. Sulu shut down the controls rapidly as G’hed and Spock pulled out a variety of armaments. Nodding to Sulu, they sped away at a run, using the shadows for concealment.

Spock unerringly seemed to know where to go, and G’hed never questioned it, assuming their destination was Nyota’s location. They dodged around pipe stalls, wash racks, and walkers, with speed, finally rounding the corner of old wood stables to see the dim glow of lights and to hear soft conversation. Simon was here with three associates, heavily armed.

G’hed and Spock mutually analyzed the situation, neither too concerned. Four human males were hardly a threat and in any case, they seemed to be focused on using sensor equipment on a metal round pen. Using hand signals, G’hed stepped around the side of the building, flat against the wall while Spock waited for an opening. When it came, both were furious. Nyota, hidden behind some equipment near the round pen, knocked over what looked like a pitchfork, and took off running in the opposite direction. 

G’hed and Spock had just enough time to shoot each other disbelieving looks before G’hed slipped after her as Spock moved to flank Simon’s confused associates left standing there. Two of them peeled off and ran after Nyota at full speed. 

Nyota was fast. It was no exaggeration that she could probably out run Simon’s men, she’d had world qualifying scores in college in the 600 meter. But, she was barefoot and dodging obstacles in a dark unfamiliar locale. The moment she’d seen the lights from Simon’s men, she’d hidden behind some old equipment at the top of the wide alley where the round pen was situated. She’d seen them arrive but more importantly, had seen Spock and G’hed touch down a few minutes later. It was only when they were in position at the top of the alley, that she had knocked over some metal tools and taken off at a dead run, hoping to divide Simon’s group. 

G’hed pelted after Nyota and Simon’s men, wondering, no shocked, that it wasn’t Spock giving chase. He’d known Spock was in pon farr, the heat and pheromones radiating off him left little room for doubt. How he could be so cool-headed and let someone else go after his mate was . . . actually, quite impossible. Suddenly, G’hed realized and almost stumbled. Spock’s pon farr wasn’t directed at Nyota, it was directed at . . . Jim Kirk. He recovered and picked up his pace.

In the confusion, Simon spun and faced the round pen, which he believed still contained Nyota and Kirk. He hissed, his men shouldn’t have left to go chasing after what probably was a stray dog. He was paying them well to back him up.

Simon managed to cut the chain holding the heavy doors together. Quite frankly, he needed to get Nyota out and to a safer locale immediately. His men weren’t associated with the OEM. They were reliable only to keep their mouths shut in exchange for a specified amount of money, which Alhamisi Uhura would be happy to pay, for the return of his daughter.

Simon’s back was turned only for a moment when he heard a series of thuds. He looked over his shoulder in surprise just in time to see Spock drop the remaining guards with a nerve pinch and reach for him. Simon swung the heavy bold cutters at Spock’s head and was rewarded with the sound of facial bones breaking with a satisfying crunch.

It was dark and they still had to get Nyota out of there but Simon couldn’t help take a few moments to enjoy Spock’s predicament. Nyota was in Simon’s custody, Spock was injured, hopefully fatally, and even if he did survive, allowing Nyota to endanger herself would have unmentionable consequences with Alhamisi and his organization. Simon literally rubbed his hands together with glee, looking down at Spock’s bleeding and unconscious form.

Simon’s distraction was helpful. Jim didn’t have a plan exactly, he just knew that Spock was on the other side of the door and injured. Jim slammed open the heavy metal door of the round pen intending to startle the men but found Simon in the way instead, swept off his feet by one thousand pounds of steel. Jim quickly took in Spock’s still form and Simon struggling to get up and made his decision. With a powerful kick, or two, Jim managed to send Simon into unconsciousness. He had no doubt he’d stay that way.

Jim knelt beside Spock, fingers grazing his face gently, accessing the damage. Without light, he couldn’t tell his condition but knew he was still alive. Jim leaned over his prone body, fear clenching his gut, and whispered to him,

“Spock. You’re ok. You’re ok. Come on, wake up. You’re good. “

By the time Sulu arrived with lights, Jim had pulled Spock across his lap; eyes shut tight, his whispered litany never ceasing. Sulu swore under his breath, and after reassuring himself Simon and his friends were out cold, ran to the flitter to bring it closer. By the time he’d returned, a ‘clean-up’ crew was en route and G’hed and Nyota had doubled back and were kneeling by Spock’s prone body. Nyota and Kirk seemed to be arguing about where to take him for treatment. Sulu stepped in with a sigh. 

“The protocol is to take him home and treat him there, if possible, if not, Star Fleet Medical.”

Jim and Nyota started in on each other once again when Spock opened his eyes slightly and said one word, “home”. 

Loading Spock in the flitter took at least two of them while Jim insisted upon calling Dr. Leonard McCoy. G’hed didn’t understand the whys and wherefores but it seemed this Doctor had interned with a group of human physicians on Vulcan and was quite capable. G’hed hoped so; he’d hate to have to call Alhamisi for a referral or worse, Spock’s father, Sarek.

The trip from San Mateo to Spock and Nyota’s home in Sea Cliff took twenty minutes, Sulu flying low and slowly so as to not jostle Spock. Having arranged for McCoy to meet them there, Jim had turned his attention to Spock, holding his head in his lap while Nyota pressed clean cloths to his face to stop the copious bleeding. 

G’hed could feel the hurt and anger radiating off of Nyota, along with a surprising resignation. She’d set aside any jealousy toward Jim in favor of getting Spock well. G’hed shook his head in silent pride, he almost didn’t recognized this strong resilient woman, who’d evidently grown up and set aside her petty concerns in a matter of hours.

McCoy was waiting in the cold in front of the Georgian style house, breath fogging the air around him. Sulu put down right next to the front door, little caring about the neighbors. They hustled Spock inside on a makeshift stretcher and set him up on the chaise lounge in the parlor, close to the kitchen and downstairs bath. 

Nyota and Sulu busied themselves getting warm blankets and buckets of hot water. McCoy looked at them strangely and went about setting up a sterile field around the lounge, while constantly taking readings and trying to shoo Jim away. 

Panda had found his way in from the back yard and sat at the edge of the room, panting nervously. The smell of Spock’s blood permeated the air and made them all a little nauseous.

When the doorbell rang, Sulu ran for the security feed and with a grateful sigh, ushered Anza in.

She looked around the foyer and into the parlor at Spock’s draped form and put her hands on her hips, noting, “Well, the only people we are missing are Sarek and Alhamisi.”

“Bite your tongue!” Nyota couldn’t resist a smile.

Anza pulled her into a hug and dragged her off to the kitchen. “How are you, young lady?”

“Oh, Anza!” Nyota’s eyes filled with tears but suddenly she bit her lips and collected herself. With strength in her voice, she replied, “Spock has severe head injuries. Simon and his thugs have been captured and I think Spock and Jim are bond mates.”

Anza looked at Nyota with wide eyes and covered her mouth with both hands. Nyota did the same. Panda started to bark. Sulu and G’hed were very startled by the pealing of laughter coming from the kitchen.

Neither G’hed or Sulu were quite brave enough to find out what had caused their attack of hilarity but Jim had no such compunctions. He wandered into the kitchen frowning at the noise.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“Oh, Jim, you know, the thy’la bond, the marriage, the blood fever, all those convenient elements to your life.”

Nyota squeaked and started fanning herself while leaning on Anza for support. Anza was no fool, she recognized an element of hysteria in Nyota’s behavior but it was best to get it out through laughter rather than grief, or so her old grandmother had said.

“Oh, laugh if you want.” Jim was truly tired of the high drama. “But you might want to know that we have another visitor in route. I think he goes by the name of Alhamisi Uhura?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	11. Portrait

I apologize for the delay in posting, there were several continuity problems with this story that I think I have resolved. This chapter is not the hot torrid pon farr chapter (although I have been practicing for it in my other stories) but it is sweet and gets them together finally. More coming in a week or so.

Chapter 11: Portrait

Alhamisi Uhura had enough money to buy secure transport from Kenya to San Francisco, multiple times a day, if necessary. He, unfortunately, and illogically, had a fear of some forms of technology and transporters were at the top of his list. As a result, and with no explanation, he rarely, if ever, used them, preferring instead, private planes or commercial flitters. 

When he arrived at San Francisco International Airport, he was greeted by Sulu with the Lincoln. He nodded his approval and tried not to make Sulu anymore uncomfortable than necessary on the long drive to Sea Cliff where Nyota and Spock made their home.

Sea Cliff was an old neighborhood, just south of China Beach, close enough to the Pacific to be constantly damp and cold. Alhamisi had wondered at their choice, Nyota having been raised in Kenya and Spock in the arid deserts of Vulcan. Still, he always enjoyed visiting them there, even if it made his aging body ache.

Alhamisi remembered visiting the graceful old Georgian style house when they had first bought it. There had been a few fights initially about how to decorate, Nyota pushing for a cool minimalist look whereas Spock, surprisingly, preferred warm jewel tones. Ultimately, Nyota had won the contest, if there actually had been one, Spock being satisfied that she was satisfied.

That was the one thing that had always characterized their relationship, Nyota pushing and Spock giving in, if only to make her happy. That was also the one thing that made Alhamisi realize that Nyota, precious though she was, was really quite selfish. She would never love something just because it gave Spock pleasure. 

Ah, and now something had gone wrong, he felt it as only a father could. He hadn’t heard from Spock in days, Nyota had been equally silent. Then, Anza tells him she’d been kidnapped. He suspected Nyota had created the situation, probably out of her arrogance and competitive nature. He loved his daughter, but he wasn’t blind to her faults.

Standing in the foyer of their home, Alhamisi took in the chaos. There was a man, presumably a doctor, bustling around the parlor, ordering everyone around. Nyota and Anza’s voices could be heard, rising and falling in tense conversation. The only one to greet him was G’hed, who shook his head and escorted Alhamisi toward the kitchen.

“Nyota!”

Nyota took one look at her father standing in the doorway and ran into his arms. “Papa, I’m so glad you are here!”

Alhamisi doubted that but pulled her into a hug. “Nyota, tell me, what has happened?” He continued softly. “How are you? Where is Jordan Simon now?”

Nyota pulled back and straightened her spine. “Papa, Simon has been contained and is in custody at our facility in the Mission District. You must know, I was taken only because I directly disobeyed Spock and G’hed’s instructions. I made a mistake. Kirk came to my rescue and he and I were kidnapped. Fortunately, he was able to come up with an escape plan. Papa, I compromised the entire operation. It was all my fault. And now . . . Spock has been injured, Doctor McCoy is with him now. This is all my fault!”

Alhamisi took in his breathless daughter and patted her shoulder helplessly. Never more than now, she reminded him of her mother, reckless and apologetic. He glanced at Anza and shared an eloquent look. 

“Excuse me, President Uhura?” A short stocky man interrupted his reverie. Jim Kirk, without a doubt. “My apologies, but I think we need to get Spock to a hospital.”

Spock. He’d almost forgotten. He pried Nyota loose and followed Jim into the parlor where Spock lay on the chaise lounge, dark green bruising marring his face. The doctor glanced up at him from Spock’s bedside.

He spoke, his voice gruff but calm. “President Uhura? I’m Dr. McCoy. Spock’s injuries aren’t life threatening, I’ve made him comfortable, but there is another situation that needs to be addressed.”

Alhamisi took in McCoy’s haggard visage; there was something inherently trustworthy about him. “I am aware. I am also aware of what must be done. We need to get him upstairs and stabilized. As reluctant as I am to say this, my daughter will do whatever is necessary.”

McCoy looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared. “Miss Uhura needs to do nothing, from what I understand, Spock needs his mate. I will need a few minutes to explain all this to him.”

“Nyota is his bond mate.”

“No . . .”

At this point, Spock became alert. “Jim, Jim is my T’hy’la. He will serve.”

Alhamisi looked at Spock with confusion, then at McCoy. McCoy jumped in. “I don’t know why or how, but Jim Kirk appears to be the one he wants. We can sort the details out later, but right now? Spock needs him.”

Anza had stepped quietly into the room and put a hand on Alhamisi’s arm. “Nyota knows. This is an accidental bonding but true. Surely you can appreciate the benefit. Nyota is spared. Kirk is not only strong and resilient but willing.”

Jim crossed his arms. “Willing? I have no idea what I am getting into! Normally, I would the first person to volunteer to have sex with Spock, really. But I would like to know what this thi . . . la . . whatever, is.”

Alhamisi schooled his expression with long practice. His mind flipped through the new facts, finally coming to the realization that the situation was already handled.

“Mr. Kirk, I am not an expert in Vulcan culture or beliefs, but from a layman’s point of view, Vulcan biology requires that the males mate every seven years. They must submit to this biological urge or their metabolism turns on them and destroys them. I believe your role as his mate requires that he must be with you and no one else. Do you understand?”

“Not completely. I am willing to do what’s necessary, hell, I probably will enjoy it. I just don’t want either of us to be saddled with each other forever. I’m pretty sure he’s in agreement.” Jim nodded at Spock who was trying to rise off of the lounge and had made it as far as his elbows before McCoy placed a strong hand on his chest and pushed him flat.

Anza hissed in annoyance. “Jim, as I have already told you, that is between you and Spock.”

“Well, he’s not exactly in a position to discuss this, now is he?”

McCoy threw up his hands. “Look, everyone just shut up! I have Spock’s jaw glued back together; he has a broken nose and a hairline fracture, even with a skull hard enough to break granite. Did I mention a concussion? He’s fine to move, I suggest we get him to his bed and give him and Jim some space.”

Alhamisi nodded and gestured to G’hed and Sulu to help move Spock upstairs. Nyota had disappeared up the long staircase, doubtlessly to make his room habitable. Jim stepped forward to help but Alhamisi’s arm held him back.

“A word, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim flashed Alhamisi a look of irritation but gave him his full attention.

“I have known Spock and his family for over 45 years, Kirk. I have watched Spock struggle his entire life with being half human and half Vulcan, I have watched as virtually his entire society turned their backs on him. I have watched him grow, come into his own, become a good being. I consider him a member of my family. You will treat him with the kindness and the respect he is due. Am I understood?”

Jim stared, mouth open. He had just been dressed down by the former President of the Federation. Somehow, that made him proud.

“Understood, sir.”

“Right, well then . . .” Suddenly, Alhamisi looked embarrassed. 

Jim grinned. “Thank you, I’ll take care of him.”

 

Ten minutes later, Sulu, who carefully kept his face noncommittal, waved Jim into one of the upstairs bedrooms. The room wasn’t coldly beautiful like the downstairs public rooms. Jim noted there was a large fireplace, lit with real wood logs casting reflections on the hardwood floors. The walls were a warm yellow, the furniture minimal but upholstered in teals, reds and purples. It was a singular style, tasteful but inviting. 

Jim looked over at the bed set against the wall. Spock was propped up on pillows, looking wan against the bronze colored bedclothes. He glanced up when Jim came in and set aside his cup of tea. G’hed stood guard beside the bed but when he noticed Jim, he gave him a quick nod and quickly left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him in evident relief.

Jim met Spock’s eyes and flushed at the naked want in his face. Spock quickly schooled his expression and gestured for Jim to sit in the chair next to his bed. As Jim approached the bed, he made a quick decision and sat on its edge instead of the chair.

“We are a pair, aren’t we?”

“A pair of what, exactly?”

Jim grinned. Spock looked like he’d been through the ringer but still, evidently, had some of his sense of humor left intact. Jim scooted up the bed so he was sitting parallel to Spock’s hip. He reached over and laid his hand on top of Spocks', which were folded neatly in his lap. When Jim’s hand made contact, Spock bit back a gasp and flinched away, drawing a puzzled look from Jim.

Jim drew back and looked Spock over carefully. His face was bruised, his nose swollen and he was developing two black eyes. There was a nasty cut along his hairline and there was still blood matted on his scalp. His head had been partially shaved and Jim could see the seams of his skin McCoy had glued together. Jim remembered feeling Spock was coming apart in his hands at the track and the long trip home. He was happy to see that the damage was less than he expected.

Jim tisked and got up from the bed and found the fresher. He was back momentarily, with a warm damp towel. He sat back down on the bed and dabbed the cloth against Spock’s wounds, breaking up the clots and exposing clean, apple green skin underneath. Spock closed his eyes, frowning at the attention as Jim fussed.

Spock batted Jim’s hand away after a while. “You need not attend me in this manner, I am sure the doctor’s attention has been sufficient.”

“Okay, in what manner would you like me to attend you?”

Spock glared at Jim for a moment. “I believe you are aware of what is required.”

Jim laughed, a bit bitterly. “Required? And here I was hoping you wanted me.”

“I . . . I do. Forgive, me.” Spock bowed his head, shame staining his cheeks. “You honor me by you presence, by your willingness to aid me. I do you a great disservice by my comments.”

Jim put the towel aside and cocked his head. Spock was a mess and yet, Jim had never wanted anyone so much in his life. He felt a tug inside his chest as though he was being drawn closer. Without thinking about it, Jim reached over and laced their fingers together. This time, Spock sighed with relief.

Spock looked up at Jim and opened up all his senses. Jim was beautiful. His clean masculine features were strong and sharp. He smelled like the outdoors, a bit damp with the green smell of soil. His hands were rough in places and like silk in others, as Spock greedily ran his fingers over his palms. But most of all, he glowed. It wasn’t the bright staggering light that had drawn Spock when he first met him, no; it was a soft and warm, coming from within him, gliding over his skin like a cloak. 

Spock moved closer to Jim, until they were almost chest-to-chest, hands still clasped. Spock could feel Jim’s aura, sliding over his own skin, embracing them both. Such close contact should have been arousing. With Nyota, six years ago, it had made his blood burn. Now, the closer they got, the calmer he felt. It was as if Jim was a missing part of him. The only tension he experienced was the urge to complete this circuit of energy.

Jim gripped Spock’s hands harder, feeling his breath move across his face. Jim had the strange sense that something powerful was happening, something important. He gave into an almost uncontrollable urge and pressed his lips against Spock’s, the kiss sweet and gentle. Something inside him broke. Emotion poured out of him, flowing into Spock. Jim’s cheeks were wet, he knew he was weeping or maybe they both were. This feeling was something he’d never imagined he needed or wanted; yet there it was, generously offered. 

Jim set aside any concerns and worries about what the future held and embraced Spock with everything he had. As they flowed together, he couldn’t help chuckling. He’d thought he was going to get laid. He never imagined he was going to fall in love.

Jim broke the kiss. “Do you remember when we were in my loft?”

Spock hummed. “You kissed me. I thought I might drown in you.”

“And as we started to come together, you stopped it. Why?”

“I did not understand what was happening. I felt a bond was beginning to form between us. We would have been bound together for the rest of our lives. I thought it was too much for a ‘first date’.” 

“But now? You’re willing to bond with me because you have to? Would you choose me if you truly had a choice?”

“Jim, you are my t’hy’la. The bond simply is. You are correct, there is no choice, but I will never want another. I only regret that I have not been able to ‘woo’ you as I would wish to.”

Jim stroked his capable fingers down Spock’s jaw, watching his mate’s eyes close in pleasure. He hated himself, but he had to ask.

“You said you will never want another. Can I? Can I ever be with someone else? Are we bound together forever?”

Spock opened eyes, shadowed with pain. “Initially, during the pon farr, no. You will be driven to be with me in all ways. After, the effect lessens somewhat. Because you are human, you will be able to forge other relationships. But when the pon farr returns, you will come back to me until the fires are extinguished.”

“But you won’t, you’ll always be tied to me?”

“Yes, that is the function of the Vulcan mating bond.”

“And if I die?”

“The bond dies when one’s mate does.”

Jim stared over Spock’s shoulder, absently running his thumb over his collarbone, exposed by Spock’s dressing gown. Belonging to someone like this, part of him wanted this, part of him felt unworthy.

“Jim, you need not be tied to me, there is the possibility that a Vulcan healer could break the bond.”

“Is that what you want?”

Spock gazed at him silently. He suddenly realized something about Jim.

“No. I would only agree to it if that is what would make you happy.”

“I don’t think it would. Spock, I’m sorry you got saddled with me. But you have to know, my whole life I have wanted to be part of someone. If that someone is you . . . well, so much the better.” Jim gave him a crooked smile. “So, lover, what do you want to do now?” Jim waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Now? Now, I want to sleep for while. I would find it restful if you joined me. Perhaps later . . .”

Jim threw back his head and laughed. This wasn’t quite what he expected but curling up with Spock and taking a nap had a definite appeal. 

Ten minutes later, Jim found himself under the duvet, carefully wrapped around Spock’s slumbering body. Spock’s even breathing and sleepy mutterings lulled him. Jim’s last thoughts before sleep took him were what the others downstairs must be thinking. He chuckled and wrapped a warm hand around Spock’s and slept.


	12. Chapter 12:  Romanticism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This would be the pon farr chapter. If you think you might be offended, skip it.

Chapter 12: Romanticism

Jim woke, nose pressed against Spock’s neck, right where his hair met smooth skin. He smelled spicy and sharp. Jim didn’t immediately recognize the scent, but it was strangely familiar. He realized he was still dressed in his chinos and long sleeve shirt and could feel Spock’s long rangy body pressed against his. His knees were tucked behind Spock’s, his left arm draped around his waist, his hand held tightly by Spock’s long fingers against a thin, tightly muscled chest.

They were spooning. Jim smiled into his neck. He could tell Spock was well and truly asleep and unlikely to wake up. It was strange to be so aware of another, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Vulcans felt no emotion. That was ridiculous. He felt Spock’s affection and complacency clearly. If this was the bond, it was satisfying, filling Jim with warmth.

Jim relished the comfort emanating from Spock but felt the shadow of something else. This too, was familiar. There was a hunger there, an urge that was distinctly sexual and sensual in nature but buried under the layers of Spock’s slumbering mind. Jim probed the feeling, his own desire rising, but nothing compared to the sleeping giant inside his mate. 

Awake and analyzing, Jim considered what must be done. Spock needed to take his mate. It had been a while since Jim had been taken, had had a male lover. There were some things that he needed to do to prepare but he suspected Spock might not have the time or inclination to see to them. It struck Jim that taking the edge off might make their inevitable joining a bit easier.

Jim released Spock’s hand and pressed it against his sternum. Immediately, Spock sought to recapture it but Jim began to stroke his chest, hand searching and opening Spock’s dressing gown. Spock’s chest was warm, hot really, skin silky and covered with short hair. Jim traced the bones of his chest, his pectorals, stroking in the direction of his hair. He found his nipples, small and erect and ran the pads of his fingertips over them several times. Spock shifted in response, pushing against Jim’s torso and angling his legs so they intertwined with Jim’s.

Jim kissed a bare shoulder. Spock was responding but not waking. 

Jim’s hand flowed downward across Spock’s abdomen, noting the hair thinned and then began to thicken as it traveled still lower. The skin where Spock’s thigh met his lower abdomen was soft and smooth. With further exploration, the hair coarsened and led to his groin. The back of Jim’s fingers touched his penis by accident and turned the touch into a soft caress. 

Spock’s spine stiffened and Jim could tell he was drifting toward consciousness. He experimented a bit, mentally suggesting a sleepy arousal. Spock’s telepathy responded and his dreamy state flattened and pulled Jim in. They both floated for a few minutes, not completely awake, not completely asleep. Jim’s gentle touch was enough to sharpen both their interests but not enough for true arousal.

Jim curiously traced the outline of Spock’s considerable erection. It was long and thick and very erect, held tight against his belly. Below, Spock’s balls were hard and drawn up. Jim explored them, cradling them in his palm, rolling them with deft fingers. Spock gasped then, the first sound he’d made since Jim had begun his gentle exploration.

Jim paused and considered how to best ease Spock. He decided a quick onslaught, a surprise attack, would be what he would want in this situation. He grasped Spock’s erection tightly in his hand and stripped him from base to tip several times. 

Spock had no defenses to this, his instincts driving him to completion. He could do nothing but thrust mindlessly into Jim’s hand. It took perhaps three minutes before he came, spectacularly over Jim’s fist, his groan wanton and heartfelt. 

To Jim, Spock’s orgasm seemed to last forever, every pulse, and every tremor setting him closer to the edge. He gave in to instinct, thrusting against Spock’s warm cheeks but somehow, even as Spock’s orgasm crashed over him like a wave, managed to hold himself back. Part of him understood that his arousal was part and parcel of Spock’s pon farr and he wouldn’t be able to come until Spock was buried inside him.

Jim pushed that thought aside ruthlessly. If he thought about what Spock would and could do to him, he would loose all control of the situation. And he knew, he was the only one who could control it. If he didn’t, Spock could not only harm himself but Jim, too.

Jim felt Spock calm and begin to rouse. He didn’t want him to wake completely. Jim had to prepare himself first. Spock’s mind slid against Jim’s, vague thoughts of affection and amusement danced around Jim’s subconscious. Again, he suggested sleep. This time, Spock fell into deep slumber with no tension to wake him.

Jim unwound Spock’s hands from his and stretched his legs with a pop of muscle and sinew. He eased out of the bed and put another log onto the fire. The fire flared, sparks flashing against the brick. Jim smiled. There was an analogy there if he looked for it. He glanced around the room and his eyes found the fresher door, still ajar, artificial light creeping out from under the door. He headed that way, knowing he had some things to take care of before Spock’s fever became stronger. Jim figured he had about an hour more.

 

Alhamisi and Nyota sat in the kitchen at the cherry wood table, the only real color in the room. Nyota had her head in her hands, eyes closed. Alhamisi watched her, elbows propped on the table. Panda paced the length of the kitchen panting, aware something was wrong. Finally, he sat next to Alhamisi and rested a furry chin on his knee. Alhamisi patted him absently drawing some comfort from the dog.

“Nyota.” Alhamisi’s voice was gentle but firm.

Nyota looked up, eyes dark. She covered her mouth with long fingers.

“Tell me.”

“Oh, Papa.” Nyota’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve made a mess of this.”

“What are we talking about? Spock? Simon? The weather?”

Nyota grimaced, a sour note creeping into her voice. “You know, I considered leaving Kirk for dead. I knew the minute I met him that he would come between us. And despite all my rancor, he came to my rescue. He risked his life to save mine. And I wanted him dead.” She looked away, unable to meet her father’s eyes.

Alhamisi resisted the urge to comfort her. It was time she grew up and faced her weaknesses head on. “How long have you known?”

Nyota shook her head. “I think I suspected Spock was entering his Time a couple of days ago. I should have known earlier. We’ve moved so far apart. Part of me didn’t really notice he wasn’t right.”

Alhamisi sighed. A few years ago they’d been so in tune it had been terrifying. He’d feared he’d lose his daughter, her distinct identity to her Vulcan lover. Part of him was relieved that Spock had found someone else.

“Anza tells me Kirk and Spock have a t’hy’la bond. This was unavoidable.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“It is an ancient warrior bond between brothers in arms.” Nyota looked skeptical at that. “It is rare but evidently a propensity towards it runs in Spock’s family.”

Suddenly, Nyota’s face cleared. “Like Skon and Supek? Spock told me about his grandfather and his friend. It was considered quite scandalous. But Skon married and fathered children. Do you think . . . ?”

“No, my dear. Not in this case. I believe Spock and Kirk are tightly bound. I don’t think you’d want to be the third wheel.”

“No, Papa, of course not. But I’m concerned. Jim Kirk is rather unsavory. I don’t want him hurting Spock or taking advantage of him.”

“Nyota, do you know who Kirk’s parents are?”

“George and Winona Kirk who died on the Excalibur. Obviously, I researched him.”

“No one knows exactly when they died. There were rumors they had been taken prisoner by the Klingons. Because of the political situation, the search for survivors was virtually abandoned before it started.”

“What your research couldn’t reveal because it was a Federation secret is that their sole surviving son spent every cent of their considerable family holdings, his entire net worth as a successful artist, the net worth of several friends and benefactors, to mount a rescue mission that was probably doomed from the outset.”

“What you also don’t know is that he insisted on going on what everyone described as a recovery mission and was there when their bodies were found on Landisek Colony. They’d been dead only a few days along with several other Star Fleet crew. He learned that had he gotten there, really, hours earlier, he could have saved them.”

Nyota’s eyes filled with tears. “Papa, how horrible. How do you know this?”

Alhamisi cocked his head and said bitterly. “I researched it. And I knew George Kirk in a different life.”

Nyota cleared her throat, gathering herself. “If what you say is true, Kirk isn’t the spoiled user I accused him of being. He won’t hurt Spock.”

Alhamisi reached across the table and gripped her hand. “No one can guarantee that but there is fierce loyalty and ability to love running through him. I think Spock could do worse.” He looked pointedly at Nyota.

 

Jim eased out of the fresher and dimmed the lights in the room further. He could feel an itch in the back of his mind, making him suspect Spock was waking up. He quietly put a few items on the bedside table and pulled off his clothes and slid into the bed. Spock woke instantly, eyes sharp in the darkened bedroom.

Jim reached behind him and handed Spock a glass of water, which was rapidly consumed. “Better?” Jim took the glass from Spock and propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at him. He gently traced Spock’s ear with his fingertips and watched as his eyes closed slowly with pleasure.

Spock’s eyelashes were shadows on his cheek as he reached up, taking Jim’s hand in his and brought his fingers to his lips. Jim’s eyes widened as Spock took them into his mouth, nibbling and licking them gently. Spock took the palm of Jim’s hand and drew circles with a warm soft tongue.

Jim was well and completely seduced. He was hard as stone and it took everything he had not to reach down and touch himself. Spock caught that trail of thought and his eyes opened slowly, shining with amusement.

“Allow me.” Spock’s voice was gravel. He gave Jim’s palm a kiss and pulled Jim’s face down. Their noses bumped and Spock hissed in pain. Jim pulled back, suddenly reminded that Spock’s nose was broken. Spock was forgiving and yet, relentless, pulling him back.

Jim’s mouth opened to Spock’s, tongue questing and exploring. Each sweep of the tongue, each accidental clashing of teeth brought them closer until neither could tell when one ended and the other began. Spock’s hands coursed over Jim’s body, learning each warm dip, each soft crease, each touch inciting Jim further. 

His excitement was licking him inside. Jim couldn’t stop himself from grabbing Spock’s hips and pushing into his hot skin. Spock reached down with his large hand and grabbed them both together, fisting them in unison for a few seconds. Jim saw stars and almost blacked out from the intensity.

“Not yet, Jim.” Spock released them and flipped Jim onto his side so he was facing away from him. Jim knew what was coming and tried to relax and trust Spock. Spock shifted closer, his hands restlessly moving over Jim’s chest and groin, pulling, pinching, rubbing sensitized finger tips over the most intimate parts of his body.

Spock’s hand gradually came to rest on Jim’s cock, his long fingered hand pulling rhythmically in time to some internal music only Spock could hear. Jim floated through his arousal; it’s peaks and valleys, each interval getting stronger until Jim was almost crying with pleasure.

Spock mouthed Jim’s neck, rubbing sharp cheekbones against his shoulder. His body dipped and lowered in the bed and Jim felt the entirety of his erection rubbing against him, searching for entrance.

Jim was so excited he couldn’t stop himself from grinding against Spock, easily affording him a clear path to entering him. Jim vaguely felt Spock gather himself, his muscles tensing with the effort to not thrust and hurt Jim, but very carefully he angled himself and pushed in slowly while stroking Jim with intent.

It should have hurt like hell but Jim was wild with the stimulus, trying to stay somewhat still in Spock’s arms. Spock thrust deeply and at the same time bit down on Jim’s shoulder, the pain sending Jim over the edge.

Later, Jim would swear he’d never come so hard in his life. It crashed through him taking everything with it, his mind, his body, and his heart. He felt Spock quicken inside him and just as his wave of orgasm began to dissipate, he was crushed beneath the sensations coming from his telepathic lover. This time, Jim did pass out.

Jim woke a few minutes later, his head on Spock’s shoulder, Spock’s cheek resting on the top of his head, their fingers intertwined on Jim’s chest. Jim untangled their hands and held his own up and watched as it shook.

Spock let him look for a few moments and encased it again, tucking it under his chin. Jim felt Spock rubbing his cheek against his head and heard a low grumbling coming from Spock’s chest. He was laughing.

“I must apologize, our joining was quite intense, far more intense than I anticipated. I trust you are well, though.”

Jim was speechless for a moment. This was so different from what he expected, he couldn’t begin to articulate it. He cleared his throat a couple of times and tried.

“Spock. Spock . . . I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to like it. Wait, like isn’t the right word. Can we do this again? Right now?”

Spock’s chuckle turned into a true laugh as he turned them so they were facing each other. “Give me a few minutes. You are a very demanding mate.”

Jim traced Spock’s smile with his fingertips. “You have a beautiful smile. Do I get to keep this too?”

“I promise it will be kept just for you.”

“Oh, I am such a sap! What the hell did you do to me?” Jim was halfway serious.

“I believe the endorphins have the best of us right now but contentment and feelings of well being are reportedly part of the bonding process.”

“You might want to keep that a state secret or humans everywhere will be beating down the door of every Vulcan.”

“Not every Vulcan.” Jim realized Spock’s mood had become somber.

“Spock? Talk to me.”

“I have to advise you that I am not quite the prize you believe I am. I have been refused the opportunity to bond with one of my own people. My intended mate chose another.”

Jim took Spock’s chin in his hand and made him look him in the eyes. “Would you prefer that? To be bonded to one of your own people?”

“No! Jim! You mistake me, I do not wish you to be disappointed in your choice.”

“Idiot. Did it occur to you that the reason you were not bonded to someone else is because you were supposed to bond with me?”

“Are you suggesting predestination?”

Jim brushed Spock’s bangs away and kissed his forehead. “Yup, don’t argue with your mate either.”

They slid together, dozing. Jim was content. It was a surprise, but it was true. He was surprised Spock was a tender, emotional lover but then, it was his ‘Time’. It could change.

Spock was pleased. This was so much more than he expected. Not only did he look forward to being with Jim again, perhaps for the rest of their lives, but to making Jim happy, complete. It was a puzzle but one he was happy to solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read and review.


	13. Surrealism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock get closer. Alhamisi plays with the dog. There is a surprise guest.

Chapter 13: Surrealism

Jim had been dozing but woke with a start when the fireplace log dropped with a spray of sparks. He eyed the fire, calculating the likelihood of it causing a conflagration and decided it did not. Jim wriggled out of Spock’s embrace and padded to the fresher. After he relieved himself, he looked in the mirror over the well-appointed sink. God, he looked like hell. If Spock got a good look at him in daylight, he’d . . . Well, maybe not. The warm tickle of the bond had settled at the back of his mind. He was pretty sure Spock didn’t care. 

Spock was out cold. He had only seen Spock’s eyes open a few times. He seemed to have two modes, sleep and fucking. Oh, and needy cuddling. So far, this pon farr business was working out pretty well.

Jim took a quick shower, his mind on how to get Spock in there sooner rather than later. The linens would have to be changed, too. They were beginning to get ripe.   
Wandering back into the bedroom, wrapped in a terrycloth robe, Jim stopped. Spock was sprawled on the bed, half covered by the duvet. He was pale and beautiful and so very precious. Jim walked over and covered him. He looked at Spock appreciatively. His dark hair was a smudge on the pillow, his aristocratic features relaxed. Jim itched for a sketchpad and charcoal. 

Shaking his head, he glanced around the room and noticed a cold box and a replicator against the opposite wall. He helped himself to coffee and a large chocolate chip cookie and sat down on the love seat set in front of the fire. 

Finally, with food and caffeine, Jim allowed himself to process the last twenty-four hours. Spock was a passionate lover. Jim actually blushed thinking about what they’d done and he wasn’t a prude. When Spock gave something his attention, he didn’t waiver, his tenaciousness had brought them both to satisfaction well beyond what Jim even thought was possible. Spock was also tender and gentle. It had taken Jim quite a bit of time to convince him he wasn’t made of glass. It was the emotionalism that surprised him, though.

Jim suspected it might have something to do with the pon farr. He held on tight when Spock wept and laughed with him when he was hit with fits of hilarity. He doubted Spock would have been capable of these outbursts a few days ago. Jim suspected that part of his emotionalism was a reflection of Jim’s own feelings. 

Jim stared at the fire and searched his heart. He felt . . . loved. Strange as it seemed, Spock made him feel cherished, whole. He’d been alone for so long but he wasn’t any more.

Even before his parents died, he’d felt isolated; the easiest way of expressing himself came through painting. On canvas he could stripe it with anger, desire, fear. But never joy or love. He knew his work inspired dark emotions and he’d taken pride in being able to illicit these feelings in critics and patrons. 

Jim remembered his father sitting him down one day, a few years ago, asking him how he had failed him. Why was Jim so unhappy? Jim clapped his father on the shoulder, so cavalier, taking advantage of his love and concern. He had reassured him it was just art, his opiate for the masses. George Kirk hadn’t believed it for a second but learned to be careful about how he asked his son questions.

When his parents had gone missing, Jim found he was more their child than any of them had realized. He’d done everything he knew how to do, called in every favor ever owed to him or his parents and was ultimately left with dust. If he thought he’d been alone before, he’d been mistaken. When the foundation of Jim’s past was ripped out from underneath him, it had caused a fundamental change.

Jim drifted for a couple of years, trying to find meaning in drugs, alcohol, men, women, anything that distracted him from the gaping hole inside him. It had destroyed his career. Jim found himself reduced to begging and borrowing to keep up the illusion of who he was and what he’d been before they’d died. Ultimately, it was pointless.

Jim startled when he felt large warm hands on his shoulders and looked up to see Spock standing behind the sofa, brow furrowed.

“May I join you, Jim?” Spock’s voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat several times. Jim nodded, and patted the cushion next to him. Spock sat down, his thighs brushing Jim’s and continued his study.

“Here, let me get you some tea.” 

Spock nodded.

Jim was back in a minute, bearing tea, apple slices and an afghan. Spock closed his eyes in bliss at the smell of the hot tea and the sharp scent of apples. Jim tisked at him and swung his bare feet into his lap and Spock sat back against the sofa arm with a sigh.

Jim silently rubbed Spock’s feet while he ate. He knew Spock was watching him carefully. The bond hummed and Jim recognized that Spock was assessing his mood. Damn telepathy.

“Tell me, Jim, what troubles you?”

“It’s nothing.”

Spock didn’t even dignify that with a response, just lifted a disbelieving brow. Jim felt him press against his mind, just as his feet pressed against his thigh.

“I was thinking about my parents.”

“They died on the Excalibur, did they not?” 

“Yes and no.”

“You miss them.”

“Of course, but I just realized I missed what they represented. I mourned them at the time, I never realized I was mourning something else as well.”

Spock said nothing, knowing Jim was thinking this revelation through.

“I didn’t understand how my identity was tied up with theirs. After they died, it seemed I’d lost everything, not just them, but our home, where I grew up, all my memories . . . I’ve always been a selfish bastard, but anything good, just went out of me. I was miserable. I doubt I had a decent, sober thought for years.”

Spock frowned. “I do not understand. I can not say our bond gives me complete access to your mind, but you describe yourself so negatively, and truly, I do not see these qualities.” Spock sat up and reached for Jim’s hands, neatly folding his legs under himself. “Everyone has moments of weakness, times when they fail, but there is a light in you, Jim.”

“I think you might be a bit prejudiced.” Jim smiled and rubbed his thumbs over Spock’s knuckles.

Spock had had enough. He pulled Jim’s hands and draped him over his body on the small cramped couch. He nuzzled him briefly but then placing both hands on his face, sunk into Jim’s mind.

Oh. Jim was getting used to this, the bond was becoming a well-traveled highway. Spock never pushed into areas that were private. This time he tapped something deep inside Jim, not hidden, but unknown. Jim saw himself as Spock saw him, as others might, as his family had. It was a unique perspective, one he’d never considered. It was good. 

Jim’s gratitude and affection flowed out to Spock, like a calm sea. Spock absorbed it, consumed it hungrily. Here was another lonely being, who needed Jim desperately. There were shadows in Spock’s mind, sadness, disappointment. Jim’s love drove them out. He could make Spock happy; he could give him what he needed. 

What Spock needed at that moment was Jim. The edges of Spock’s mind grew sharp with arousal. Their minds and bodies came together with a snap, well-fitted gears turning as one. Jim was caught up again in their ancient rhythms, rocking with Spock, shouting when he came, seed spilling down Spock’s throat.

 

Alhamisi had spent enough time over the last two days in Nyota and Spock’s home. Frankly, he was tired of it, of the situation, of Nyota. She’d gone back to work that morning, Alhamisi silently sighing with relief. He was unwilling to go home just yet. He felt he should make sure Spock was well. He owed the Lady Amanda that, and more.

Bundled up in the damp weather, Alhamisi was playing catch with Panda in the large backyard. The house sat on a hill and below the patio and pool, a grass lawn extended another one hundred meters to a tall wood fence. Other than the lawn and a few trees, the landscaping was indifferent and showed how little time Spock and Nyota spent at the house.

Panda also seemed desperate for attention. Alhamisi threw the ball across the yard and Panda’s job was to catch it before it hit the ground and return it. He was mostly successful and Alhamisi enjoyed the almost meditative game. He didn’t hear Anza walk up behind him and was startled when she cleared her throat.

Alhamisi clutched his chest in mock fear and greeted her with a rueful smile.

“Nearly scared me to death! You shouldn’t sneak up on old men.”

Anza snorted derisively. “You’re too stubborn to ever die.”

They walked up the grass slope together, Panda capering by their side.

“Maybe, but there are days . . . Have Spock and Jim made an appearance yet?”

Anza tucked her hand in Alhamisi’s elbow. “They have indeed. Both are staggering around the kitchen like the dolts they are. Dr. McCoy is on his way over to check them out but said to feed them if they were so inclined. Care to whip them up some breakfast?”

Alhamisi’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I see. While Sulu and G’hed are transporting Simon to London, I’ve become the new manservant. Next, I’ll be changing their sheets.”

“Not without a flamethrower!”

As he walked through the kitchen door, Alhamisi threw back his head and laughed his distinctive bray. Both Jim and Spock jumped a bit but Spock immediately returned to an uncharacteristic slump and Jim tiredly slid into a chair. Jim smiled weakly at the former President and tried to stifle a yawn.

Alhamisi put his hands on his hips and took in the two young men. Both looked sleepy rather than exhausted, content rather than stressed. When Spock crossed the room to make coffee, Jim gave him a swat, drawing a raised brow. 

“You two are cute together.” Anza’s comment made Jim groan. 

“And good afternoon to you, too.” Alhamisi smiled.

Rubbing his hands together, “Well, what would you two like for breakfast? I’m cooking.”

“Waffles!” They spoke together. Spock and Jim turned to each other in unison, eyes wide. Unbelievable. 

Jim started to laugh. Spock was trying to speak and waive a half filled coffee cup around to make a point, spilling most of it on the floor. Panda leaped to clean up the mess as Spock tried to keep his feet on the now slippery tile. Jim laughed so hard he had tears streaming down his face. Anza suppressed a wheeze and fell into the chair next to Jim, covering her mouth.

Alhamisi tried to grab Spock’s arm, throwing them both off balance and onto the kitchen counter. 

Dr. McCoy stood in the doorway, mouth agape. “What the hell are you doing? Dancing? You have guests!”

Everyone swung their heads toward McCoy who stepped aside, revealing a tall hawk faced Vulcan. 

“Spock!” Sarek’s voice would have frozen Hades.

Spock stared, nerveless fingers dropping the cup that shattered loudly on the tile.

“Father?” Spock tried to draw himself up, tightening the sash on his loose robe. “May I ask why you are in my home?”

Sarek flashed him a cold look. “Your betrothed has arrived from Vulcan. I am here to introduce you.”

Jim stood, finally recognizing Spock’s father from the reception. Stepping between them, he replied, “He is not going anywhere with you.”

Sarek barely glanced at Jim. “He need not, I have brought her here.”

“Here? As in this house?” Anza might have squeaked. 

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how you like it. Thanks to everyone who has read this and left comments and kudos. We are getting into humorous times.


	14. Chapter 14:  Baroque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock confront Sarek and discover some surprising allies.

Chapter 14: Baroque

Silence reigned as everyone in the room stopped and stared at Sarek in shock. Everyone except Spock. Jim stood between them, hands held out in supplication. He shot Spock a quick look; fast enough to see his face change from open to closed. The warm thread of the bond didn’t completely disappear but it felt like it was running against cold steel.

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “Your presence is illogical. I believe I have made myself clear. I will not be tied to a Vulcan.”

“Then you will die. I am not blind. I know you are in pon farr. It was obvious when you came to the Embassy. T’Lara can ease you and tradition will be satisfied.”

Jim laughed then. “Hardly, and I think you are a bit late. Spock is eased and has bonded with me.”

Jim had the unique experience of watching a Vulcan become enraged. He didn’t appreciate the danger he was in but Spock did. He grabbed Jim and shoved him against the counter behind him. Everyone else in the room became motionless as Sarek lunged for Jim.

Spock caught him by the shoulders and was momentarily surprised at his father’s weakness. Giving him a shove, Sarek fell backward into the kitchen table, which gave under his weight. As the table collapsed into kindling, Anza and Alhamisi scurried out of the way and Panda yelped, caught briefly beneath. 

Sarek fell hard and lay on the broken remains of the table, eyes closed, gripping his left arm in pain. Spock’s face was no longer emotionless; his eyes were wide with surprise and shock as he knelt to help his father up. He was pushed roughly aside by McCoy who’d grabbed his tricorder and immediately began scanning.

Spock stepped back and stood beside Jim. Jim reached for his wrist, gripping it hard. Jim could feel pain radiating from his lover, pouring through his skin. Spock was so focused on his father, he didn’t notice the tall Vulcan woman entering the room and joining McCoy on the floor.

Spock’s intended had the cool beauty typical of Vulcan women, pale with large dark eyes. Those eyes surprised Jim; they were bright, shining with concern. So, an emotive Vulcan.

She brushed McCoy aside, straightened Sarek’s limbs and said softly, “He has Bendii’s Syndrome. He cannot control his emotions at the moment. Please do not touch him. Allow me.” She placed her fingers against Sarek’s psi points, something Jim was now quite familiar with.

Her eyes closed in concentration as McCoy sat back on his heels, giving her a clear field. Silence fell over the kitchen and everyone watched as Sarek’s face relaxed and cleared. After a moment, she removed her hand and sat back, eyes never leaving his face. 

Sarek opened his eyes and made to stand. When McCoy reached out to help him, T’Lara shook her head. After a moment, Sarek found his feet. He stared at nothing for a moment before his eyes snapped to Spock, standing beside Jim at the counter. His eyes dropped to their clasped hands. 

Sarek took a deep, steadying breath. He looked up at Spock. “Is this true? Have you bonded with a human? A male?”

Spock stepped forward, still clasping Jim’s hand. “It is true. We are one, together. I shall take no other.”

“I should expect no more from you. You should expect nothing further from me. You are not my son.”

“Now, wait a god damned minute!” McCoy was furious. “The bond already existed. It’s a Thi la bond, or whatever you computerized morons call it. You have no . . .”

“A T’hy’la bond?” T’Lara turned her attention to McCoy. “How can you be sure? Who verified this?”

Anza stepped away from the kitchen wall, her dark eyes flashing. “I did.”

T’Lara examined Anza closely. “A Betazoid. What would you know of such a thing?”

“I studied with the monks at Kir.” Anza’s Vulcan was colloquial and accurate.

T’Lara raised an elegant brow dismissively. “How does a Betazoid earn such a privilege?”

Anza bowed her head, in respect to the ancient discipline. “I am of the Fourth House on Betazed. I had some small skill.”

“Some small skill . . .” Alhamisi laughed, translating Anza’s words with long ease.

T’Lara turned her attention back to Jim and Spock. “Then, my congratulations are in order. And my thanks, I never thought to see such a bonding.”

She turned to Sarek. “You speak from emotion, not logic, Sarek. A true bonding is. If you wish to correct Spock, that is your prerogative, of course, but not on this issue, I would think.”

Sarek bristled. “Spock is my son. He will be obedient.”

Ignoring Spock’s tightened grip on his hand, Jim responded, sarcasm staining his voice. “Spock is your son, yes. But he is now my bond mate. Any obedience owed is mine.”

“Insolent human! You have no comprehension of what it is to be with a Vulcan. You cannot imagine what is required. When you demand love and it cannot be returned, will you leave him? When he cannot conform to your society’s paradigms, will you scorn him? I will not allow my son to be tossed aside when you tire of him.”

Jim threw both hands in the air. “You don’t know me, sir. I may not be the best example of mankind but I am the best choice for Spock, because the bond makes it so. We can argue all day long, but the bond chose, Spock chose.”

“What is done can be undone. If you do not release him from this travesty . . .”

Alhamisi had had enough. Stepping forward and around the ruined table, he said, “Sarek, leave it, please. This is an opportunity. You have wished for Spock to find his place. He has. This man . . .” Alhamisi gestured at Jim, “he is honorable and worthy of a place by Spock’s side.”

“You will not lecture me, President Uhura. I have had enough interference from you. You would take my son from me as you once tried to take my wife.”

Oh shit! Jim did not have to be a telepath to read the shock and dismay from virtually every being in the room.

To Alhamisi’s eternal credit, he merely swallowed a couple of times and gathered himself. “You speak of things resolved long ago. May I remind you, you had the honor of marrying Amanda, not I. If you think I took Spock from you, you are mistaken. I looked after him after you cast him away for, what was it? Oh, disobedience, you are hardly . . .” His voice began to rise until T’Lara’s calm tones interrupted.

“This argument is illogical and moot. Although I would have been satisfied to join with Spock, it is no longer possible.” She glanced at Jim. “I believe his mate is fortunate and I for one, would not desire to come between them. Sarek, let us leave them to their joining. There is nothing more to be done.”

Sarek tore his eyes away from Alhamisi and left without even a glance at Spock and Jim. T’Lara hesitated at the door. 

“I will see that he returns to the Embassy and consults with a Healer. Do not be concerned.” She turned to leave but looked back over her shoulder.

“Spock, your mother will be pleased to hear of this.” T’Lara swept out of the room and next sound they heard was an air car departing the house.

Everyone turned as one and stared at Alhamisi who shrugged and smiled weakly. “Okay, everyone stop looking at me that way. It was a long time ago. A long time ago.” 

“So, who wants waffles?”

 

After a hearty breakfast, Jim felt a mounting pressure, a discomfiture brought on by too much surprise and emotional display. As quickly as he could, he packed Spock up and dragged him back to their room. 

Jim watched Spock arrange himself in front of the fire and close his eyes. He was meditating and Jim was unwilling to disturb him. As much as he would like to return downstairs and get more details from Alhamisi, he knew Spock needed his steadying presence.

Jim took a seat by the tall windows and looked out at the cold wintry afternoon. Gray clouds rushed across the sky allowing weak sunlight to skim the tree branches in the yard. Someone had let Panda out and he was racing across the yard, barking joyfully at squirrels. Jim sat back against the cushions and thought about what it would be like to live like this, in a real home, with someone who loved him.

Who loved him. Jim didn’t know if Spock actually loved him. He knew Spock needed him like he needed air. He knew Spock was warmed by him, opening slowly from within like a bloom. But love? What would a Vulcan know of love?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Jim loved enough for both of them. That would be sufficient.

Jim felt Spock coming out of his meditation and left his reflection for another time. When Spock opened his eyes, his first sight was Jim kneeling beside him. He reached out a hand and took Jim’s chin in long fingers, his thumb grazing his lower lip.

Spock watched Jim’s changeable eyes warm with affection. Jim loved him, he knew. With Nyota, he’d felt something similar but it was a pale compared to the depth and complexity of Jim’s emotions. This was something he could sink into, bask in. As a Vulcan, he shouldn’t crave this but he couldn’t help himself.

Spock wondered if Sarek was right. Would Jim tire of a Vulcan mate? Would Jim eventually cast him aside for someone who could love him with the same intensity? Spock found he didn’t care. What time they had together would be sufficient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. I appreciate all the comments and kudos. There are only a couple of chapters left.


	15. Chapter 15:  Gouache

Chapter 15: Gouache

Spock rolled over on the bed and propped himself up on an elbow, staring down at Jim’s slumbering form. He resisted the temptation to press soft fingertips against Jim’s temple and cheek. He would leave the kisses for later, Jim was tired and needed to sleep. 

Lying next to Jim in the large bed gave Spock an opportunity to watch his restless lover. His observations were limited to the last few days but Jim seemed to move constantly, his energy almost like an electric charge. Spock wanted to capture Jim’s furious movements and pull them within, offering them a calm and still home.

Jim had been a stranger to him less than five days ago and Spock was still cataloguing details of his physicality and personality. The bond that joined them created a false familiarity. Spock wasn’t sure what Jim liked to eat, what clothes he preferred, his favorite soccer team. He felt a certain sense of excitement about this. He would learn these details, as Jim would eventually acquire information about him.

What Spock did know was the warm breadth of Jim’s emotional landscape. When they were joined, Spock was almost embarrassed by the greedy joy he felt, rolling in Jim’s feelings, experiencing his joy, desire, and sadness vicariously. Jim understood Spock’s fascination with his mind and embraced his curiosity with equanimity.

Spock gave into temptation and brushed Jim’s dark blonde hair off his forehead. He rolled the strands between his fingers, awed by Jim’s beauty. Predictably, Jim’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled up at Spock. Jim’s hazel eyes laughed as he pulled Spock down into a kiss.

Spock lowered himself onto Jim’s broad chest and kissed him back. His lips were firm and warm as they whispered across Spock’s cheek, Jim’s teeth scraping across his chin as he tried to kiss and smile at the same time. They separated briefly, Spock’s eyes roaming Jim’s face, which split into a rueful grin. After a moment, Jim closed his eyes, embarrassed.

Spock lay between Jim’s thighs, braced on his elbows to protect Jim from his greater weight. He kissed Jim again, mouth seeking and tasting leisurely. Jim’s body beneath him was warm from sleep, skin smooth and silky. Spock rubbed against him, rising slightly for a better angle. Jim’s arms came around him, stroking his back, one hand coming to rest over Spock’s heart. He knew Jim was listening to the beat. Spock heard an inarticulate sound and stopped kissing Jim for a moment, watching changeable eyes.

“Your heart. It beats so fast. I just thought . . .” Jim whispered.

“You have nothing to fear, it beats for you. It is stronger for your presence.” 

Jim grabbed Spock by the neck and pulled him back down, cheek to cheek, thrusting against his warm abdomen. Spock reached between them, grasping them together. Jim tensed against Spock, ready for release. Spock quickly removed his hand and pulled their bodies apart. Kneeling between Jim’s thighs, he kissed down his neck and thighs, finally holding Jim’s hips. 

Spock raised his gaze to Jim’s face and quirked an eyebrow. Jim’s eyes widened as Spock used his thumbs to gently stroke his hipbones. 

Jim was efficiently pulled on top of Spock, enfolded in long arms and legs. It was his turn to quickly brace his weight on his elbows as Spock pulled his hips down to meet his own. This was something new. During the pon farr, Spock had taken Jim repeatedly, giving great pleasure, but there had been no question about who was the dominant partner.

Spock looked up at Jim’s shocked expression and smiled slightly. Grasping Jim’s cock, he guided him down to his opening, bumping his entrance with the tip. With his other hand, he reached for the lube and slathered it on Jim.

Jim’s eyes rolled. Spock continued to stroke, using one of his hands to breach himself with the lubricant. He calculated to the second when Jim would need to enter him but left the choice to him. He merely folded himself in half and rested his knees on Jim’s shoulders, inviting him in.

Jim’s eyes closed in concentration and Spock was caught in the maelstrom of desire coming off him in waves. Jim opened his eyes and cupped Spock’s face, lowering his hip and entering Spock slowly, guided by Spock’s hands. 

As Jim pushed in, Spock felt an unfamiliar emotion. Being taken like this, he felt unspeakable vulnerability and trust. His own emotions merged with Jim’s, tied up with desire that began deep inside him.

He was shocked at the sounds he made, pleading and begging coming from the back of his throat. Spock knew he was restive under Jim, head thrown side to side, exposing his throat like prey. Through all of this, he experienced Jim’s power, his dominance, and his irrefutable sexuality in an entirely new way.

After a time, analysis fell away and both were locked together, speeding down a narrow path toward one goal. Spock was part of Jim, led by Jim, taken on this voyage with Jim, hanging on for dear life. He couldn’t stop his orgasm from crashing over him. Jim clenched above him and Spock opened from within as he came, absorbing his seed as though it was nourishment.

Jim stayed inside him for a time, holding him tightly, trying to control his own tremors as well as the aftershocks that rocked Spock’s body. As Jim softened and pulled out, Spock felt his emotions flare. He wanted him inside him, he regretted Jim leaving him alone. Jim might have been psi null but he could feel Spock’s crushing disappointment and guided him unerringly within to where they were mentally joined. Spock laughed and caressed the spot mentally.

Spock found himself, head pressed against Jim’s chest, this time listening to his lover’s heartbeat. He could feel Jim beginning to doze, his hands slipping affectionately through Spock’s hair, stilling finally as sleep truly took him. Spock noted his steady breath and the thump beneath his ear. 

He was astounded by the depths of emotion he’d experienced, so different from his first pon farr with Nyota. That had been an itch he couldn’t quite reach, a hunger that hadn’t been satisfied. This was a true mating, one he’d never thought to experience as hamstrung as he was by his dual nature. 

They were locked together, joined by a bond, the likes of which he hadn’t imagined. He was a private man, to share so much with another was against his nature. But instead of wanting to run away from Jim, he moved to embrace him with every fiber of his mind and body.

Spock realized he and Jim had some things to work out yet, first and foremost having to do with where to live. He didn’t want to live separately from Jim but wasn’t sure if Jim felt the same way. He wanted the intimacy to continue between them and grow. He wanted his mother to meet Jim but after the scene with his father, he was reluctant to introduce them.

Spock sighed and was startled by Jim’s hand tapping the back of his head. Spock turned to face Jim, who was smiling at him.

“Hey, I’ll live where ever you want so long as Panda stays and Nyota goes. Oh, and I can’t wait to meet your mother.”

Before Jim’s eyes closed and he returned to sleep, he saw Spock grin. 

 

They had taken public transportation down California St., leaving the mists of Sea Cliff behind. The weather was fair for San Francisco in February but Spock was bundled up anyway, tucked into his brown wool coat. McCoy had brought Jim some clothes from his apartment and he felt strange, dressed and out of the house. They hopped off the open-air bus at Fillmore South and continued on foot traveling east on Bush St. The cool breeze ruffled Jim’s hair and made him feel buoyant as he walked close to Spock, occasionally jostling his shoulder. As they approached the imposing sandstone edifice of the Vulcan Embassy, Jim felt Spock’s mounting tension.

To Jim’s surprise, Spock reached for Jim’s hand and they walked up the wide staircase and stood before the huge bronze doors, covered in Golic script. They represented the entrance of the Ancient Gate in the Old City of Shi’ Kahr. On either side, were the traditional statues of Evekh and Suvin, carved into the stone walls.

Spock watched Jim’s face as he took in the doors.

“Spock, this is . . . incredible!”

“Indeed. The original script dates from 930 years before Surak. Of course the bas-reliefs are somewhat newer, by approximately, 1,246 years. There is an interesting fact about the construction . . .”

“Spock!” Jim hissed. “It’s okay, let’s save the history lesson for later.”

Spock squeezed Jim’s hand and gazed at him gratefully. He touched a panel and the security screen swept over them. Jim felt a tingle and found them both transported into the grand foyer where they were greeted by a guard, traditionally uniformed in the robes and colors of what Jim now knew belonged to Spock’s House.

The guard nodded to Spock, his eyes passing over Jim without comment. 

“Welcome, Osu. The Lady awaits you.”

Spock continued to hold Jim’s hand as the followed the guard down a long and ornate hallway to nondescript mahogany doors. With a bow, the guard opened the doors inward and stepped aside.

Jim expected to be greeted by the Lady Amanda, perhaps Sarek, perhaps a few retainers. He was not expecting an ancient crone seated on a long divan, gnarled hand clutching a long metal stave, highly embellished with precious metals and stones. 

Her face was long and narrow like Spock’s, with the same fair skin. Her mouth was thin and hidden in folds of ancient skin. She was so old, her skin seemed almost transparent. She said nothing as they walked into the room.

When they reached her, Spock knelt and bowed his head. Jim was still attached by what he now understood was a death grip and followed him to the floor.

“Spock, who have thee brought before us?” The old woman’s voice was cracked and accented so heavily that Jim almost didn’t recognize Spock’s name.

Spock looked up. “This is my Teslu, James Kirk. Jim, this is my grandmother, T’Pau.”

Jim had been looking closely at the cracks in the mosaic floor up to this point, unwilling to raise his eyes. Once he heard “T’Pau”, he raised his head quickly, almost impacting with Spock’s shoulder. All Jim could see was the face of the venerable matriarch of Vulcan, eyes twinkling. Jim glanced over at Spock, who for the moment, looked slightly guilty.

“Thee are welcome here, James Kirk.” Turning to Spock, she added, “Although we wish to know your Telsu, the Lady Amanda is eager to see thee. Let us begin.” T’Pau rested her stave against the divan and opened both hands, palms up. She looked between Jim and Spock. “Thee will give us thy thoughts.”

Spock dropped his head again, bringing their clasped hands up and between them. T’Pau touched the side of Spock’s head with curled fingers. She glanced at Jim, who dropped his head and felt her dry hand on his face.

It was very unlike a meld with Spock. Jim felt a brushing of his mind, a whisper of her identity and then a caress down the bond joining him and Spock. The bond sang, tethered between them, bounding at T’Pau’s light telepathic touch. Then, her slight presence was gone and Jim looked up.

T’Pau blinked and Jim would swear later that the corner of her mouth turned up in satisfaction.

She turned to Spock, still touching the side of his face, gnarled fingers opening in what looked like affection. “Thee has a true bond, Spock. Be faithful to it and prosper.”

“Our thanks, T’Pau. We will greet my mother, by your leave.”

T’Pau nodded once, her ancient eyes following Jim and Spock as they rose and walked out of the room. As the doors closed behind them and she truly was alone, she indulged in a small smile. She had always favored Spock and it would be illogical to hide her pleasure that he had found a satisfactory mate.

 

Spock led Jim down the corridor, still hand in hand. Jim pulled him to a stop, searching the hall to make sure they were alone.

“T’Pau! T’Pau is your grandmother. You might have warned me!” Jim whispered furiously, slightly hysterical now that they were alone.

Spock cocked his head to the side, examining Jim’s mood closely. “Jim, it is a happy coincidence she is here and could confirm our bond. I did not realize that was her intent until just now. She has always ‘taken my side’ in matters of conflict with my father. He would be hard pressed to object further under these circumstances.”

“So his mother just did an end run around him?”

“I am not sure exactly what that means but, yes, I believe she did. And as the Matriarch of Vulcan, her word is law, especially within my House.”

“Sarek can’t object then?”

“He can object, of course. He has lost the war, however. Let us beard the lion in his den, while we still have logic on our side.”

Jim hummed nervously as Spock followed a Byzantine path to his parents’ apartments. When they arrived at the entrance, Jim was amused to note it was far more elaborate than T’Pau’s. White marble graced the threshold and massive doorway that was guarded by two fully uniformed retainers. Without a word, one of them turned and touched a panel and the massive oak doors opened into a round waiting room, festooned with gilt mirrors reflecting a large vase on an ornate wood table. The metal vase was filled with roses that lent the room a soft floral scent.

Spock tilted his head at a doorway as a musical voice called. “Spock! Please come in!”

Jim followed Spock into a graceful room, comfortably furnished, light and feminine in décor. French doors looked out onto a patio where a fountain played, surrounded by dozens of rose bushes of every variety.

Sitting at a piano, Lady Amanda stood, hands fluttering at her throat. With long strides, she strode across the room, coming to a stop in front of her son, consuming him with her eyes.

Spock finally dropped Jim’s hand and reached to take both of hers, bowing over them with a half smile.

Amanda would have none of that and standing on tiptoes, pressed her cheek to Spock’s briefly, eyes sparkling with tears.

She dropped Spock’s hands and turned to Jim, holding her hands out as Spock had done. Jim took the delicate hands in his own and was rewarded with a warm smile and a gentle squeeze.

Amanda swept a hand toward a seating area, several couches and chairs facing a low table, set with fruit and an elaborate Vulcan tea carafe. Spock and Jim sat side-by-side, thighs touching, when Spock leaned forward intently and asked the question they were most interested in.

“Mother, what of my father? Is he well?”

Amanda’s face crumpled for a moment then smoothed with an almost Vulcan calm.

“Spock, he is at a healer’s enclave in Sausalito. They are attempting to bring back the Mind Rules. It is very difficult for him. He has come to understand that his career as a diplomat is over.”

Spock sat back, frowning, shock pulsing along the bond. “Mother, forgive me, but can they do nothing?”

“Oh, they can ease many of the symptoms, rebuild some of his controls, but to remain on Earth, or among any society where emotions are not locked behind telepathic doors, it would be impossible for him to function. We must return to Vulcan, to stay. You know, your father was a brilliant scholar and musician. Those avenues aren’t closed to him. Bendii’s Syndrome is not a death sentence. He will find his way again.”

Amanda turned toward Jim and offered him a cup of tea in a tall clear glass. It was cool to the touch and gave off a pungent aroma. “I find kailisk tea to be quite palatable for humans. If not, I can offer you juice or water.”

“No, I am sure this will be fine.” Jim smiled winningly, remembering suddenly Amanda’s approval was probably more important than Sarek’s.

“Jim, tell me about yourself. I understand you were a featured artist at the Federation for the Arts conference until you decided to save my son’s life.”

Jim laughed and filled Amanda in on his history and a highly edited version of their recent adventures with the OEM. Spock interjected occasionally, reassuring Jim that Amanda’s security clearance was far higher than theirs. It was a pleasant conversation that meandered through anecdotes and even tales about Spock as a child.

Just as Jim was making inroads on having Amanda produce baby pictures, Spock stood, noting they should take their leave.

Amanda laughed, running her hands through her short hair. As they said good-bye, she pulled Jim into a hug and whispered to him. “Thank you for saving him, Jim. Thank you for teaching him how to love.” With a quick kiss to Spock’s cheek, she started to shove them out the door, but stopped abruptly.

“Spock! You know Vulcan will need another Ambassador to Earth.” With that, she shut the door and they heard her laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review. One more Chapter to go.


	16. Chapter 16:  Epilogue

Chapter 16: Epilogue

Jim sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, watching the early spring sun slant through the thick glass in the front room. The light was amazing, turning the tongue and groove flooring a honey color and the walls, a warm mustard. He had laid out the color swatches for the new wall paint and considered his choices. Spock hadn’t stated a preference other than a slightly embarrassed, “anything but white”. Jim had chuckled, remembering the unrelenting starkness of the house in Sea Cliff, decorated by Nyota’s uninspired hand.

He glanced idly at the framed pictures leaning against the walls. Some were his work, his particular favorite, a study of Spock in silhouette looking out on the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Others were chosen by both of them, impressionistic landscapes of Inverness in water color and oils, the warm jewel tones of the northern California coast appealing to Spock’s increasingly educated eye. 

Jim and Spock had chosen the old California bungalow in the Haight for its proximity to Jim’s studio and Golden Gate Park. It had been spared the fires that had swept through San Francisco periodically and the earthquakes that had demolished much of the City’s older architecture. 

Jim supposed the house had been waiting for them through all those years, happy finally, to be restored. Spock considered Jim was being rather fanciful but treated the house’s remodeling with love. They had modernized with an eye to keeping the bungalow’s open floor plan while adding the technology to bring the house up to date. Each room was taking on their increasingly specific tastes. The house was truly becoming theirs.

A feline head pushed against Jim’s knee and he gave Dundee a scratch under her chin. She chirped in gratitude and stalked toward the kitchen. Dundee had moved in shortly after Jim and Spock, without any introductions. A large marmalade striped cat, she had adopted them and more grudgingly, Panda, who had come with them. Nyota had been reluctant to give up Panda but finally acquiesced, knowing he would be happier with Spock and Jim’s almost constant attention. 

Jim heard the sharp clip of Panda’s nails on the hardwood, followed by the thump of paws racing down the hall. Panda’s whining concluded the brief chase; Dundee must have found a safe retreat on a counter.

It was an unrelenting domestic scene that met Spock when he came through the paneled doorway as evening fell. Jim had one elbow on his knee, holding up his chin, while the other dangled a pencil loosely between his fingers, as he stared out the front windows into the park across the street, the sunset painting the living room and its occupant in a rosy glow. It warmed Spock and he thanked whatever gods might be responsible for the unequivocal joy this being brought to him every day.

Spock cleared his throat. “I have pinot grigio from Napa, huntsman cheese from England and an avocado.”

Jim looked up and grinned. “Well then, we have a meal!” He jumped to his feet lightly, making it seem as though gravity had no part in his world. He divested Spock of the bag of groceries and made his way to the kitchen, giving a surprised Spock a swat.

As the sun set, throwing the kitchen into twilight shadows, Spock turned on some jazz. His COMM chirped several times but he ignored it. Whatever it was, it could wait.

They bustled around the kitchen together, bumping into one another, scooping Dundee off of the counters as needed, and trying not to trip over Panda, who was determined to be underfoot. 

Spock smiled at Jim’s off key attempt to sing along with the old ballad. He hummed under his breath, most illogically, and swept Jim into his arms at one point, nose pressed against his ear as he waltzed him around the butcher-block island. Jim wheezed with laughter and wrapped his arms securely around Spock’s tall frame, dipping him backward. Panda barked sharply at their antics as Dundee warily sauntered under the wood table. Jim pulled Spock upright and kissed him soundly.

Jim set the table and they sat down to eat. Spock lit a candle, setting it in the center of their kitchen table and watched the soft light play over Jim’s well-loved face. His emotions were in play tonight. Jim could always bring them to the surface, his acceptance pulling them out of Spock, like threads, weaving them into a solid cloth that had become their lives together.

They spoke quietly, sharing details of their day, petty grievances discussed and dismissed, humorous moments turned over and enjoyed. Jim reached for Spock’s hand several times, fingers brushing his knuckles in affection. Spock watched Jim’s face, categorizing each expression and storing it away.

By the end of the evening, the bottle of wine had been consumed and dinner put to rights. Jim grabbed Panda’s leash and was heading out the back door, just as Spock’s COMM signaled again. With a sigh, Spock waved Jim out and picked it up.

“Spock! Is that you?” Sulu’s voice was reedy and he sounded out of breath.

“Since it is my COMM, I would expect it is. Mr. Sulu, we are just retiring. What can I do for you?”

“Ok, Spock, you might want to sit down.”

Spock made an impatient noise. “Get to the point, please.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but Jordan Simon escaped from our facility in London and we believe he is heading to San Francisco. Spock, he blames you for his capture and incarceration. He’s coming for you!”

“How would he know where to find me? There are no records tying either Jim or me to this house.”

Sulu was silent for a moment. “Two days ago, there was a security breach of our systems.”

“Why was I not informed immediately?” 

Unseen, Sulu still winced. “Unknown. We think it might be an inside job. No one realized right away.”

Spock was silent for a moment; anxiety washing over him and ruthlessly pushed it back down. He wasn’t afraid of Simon but he was afraid of what he damage he could wreck on the life and love Spock had created in this home.

He gathered himself. “How long ago?”

“Six hours. He could be there already. G’hed and I are on our way but our ETA is about one hour. Spock, Alhamisi has been informed as well, Nyota is in Kenya and he urges you and Jim to come as well.”

Spock didn’t even have to consider this. “I will send Jim ahead and meet you here. Spock, out.” He didn’t hear Sulu sputtering when the COMM closed but he could imagine. Dealing with Simon might be troublesome but nowhere near as difficult as getting Jim to Kenya. His bond mate would not want to leave him. He understood but it made no difference, Spock was trained to deal with assassins, even if he was the target. Jim was very competent but not ready to face that kind of danger. 

Spock turned to a control panel on the wall, one of several throughout the house. He entered the code only he and Jim knew. He would engage the force field that would blanket the house only when Jim was safely inside and then set up a site-to-site transport for Jim. Technically, they could sit out a war beneath the technology he and Montgomery Scott had developed. He didn’t want to test it.

Jim was taking too long with Panda, no doubt taking their favorite trek down Stanyan St., skirting the park. Spock went to the front door and stepped out onto the wide porch. Jim and Panda stood beneath the streetlight on the sidewalk in front of their house, talking to a man. 

Spock read Jim’s body language, half in shadow and realized it was too late. Simon was already here. Simon’s features were indistinguishable but Spock could see him gesture for Jim to go down the path toward the house. Spock waited for them to come up to the porch and raised his hands. He glanced at Jim, who shook his head minutely; he was well and quite aware of the danger they were in.

As the two men stepped onto the porch, Spock had a chance to evaluate Simon. He was thinner and paler than he remembered. His eyes were different though. Simon had been greedy and dangerous before, now he was just dangerous and perhaps, insane.

Jim stopped and without turning asked, “I’m going to drop the leash. The dog will just go inside.”

A smile twisted Simon’s face. “No, I think I’d prefer to keep you together. Maybe Spock will enjoy watching both of you suffer. Shall we go inside? Spock, you first.”

Spock turned and walked through the open door, noting Simon’s weapon was trained on Jim’s back. Once the three men were inside, Simon kicked the door closed behind him and gestured toward the living room. Spock was happy to move into the large room, he needed the space to put his plan into motion.

Simon whistled through his teeth and tisked, his eyes never leaving Spock. “What a sweet love nest you built, Spock. I never would have guessed you had it in you. Quite illogical, I’d say.”

Spock was in no mood for banter. “What do you want, Simon?”

“Why Spock, you of course. I have been imagining this moment for years, really. I plan on destroying you bit-by-bit, inch-by-inch. That way, the monster will finally get what he so richly deserves.”

Jim was about to speak, but a glance from Spock quelled him. Spock needed Jim to be invisible, the focus needed to be on him.

“I do not understand human emotions, Simon. Your hatred of me is most illogical. We do not know each other. I hardly think your capture, inevitable as it was, merits your vitriolic anger.”

“No, we don’t know each other. I don’t hate you, I am repulsed by you, your very existence is a sin against humanity. You will be eradicated, exterminated like the repulsive vermin you are. You see, it is not just that you are one of a race of aliens that see yourselves as our overlords, keeping humans from achieving the glory god intended, you are the disgusting product of their scientific experiments. I know what your government intended in creating your ilk.”

Simon’s face was flushed with rage; spittle staining his lips and chin. He was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by his emotions. Spock decided to pour more fuel on the fire.

“You are correct. I am an experiment and by virtue of my success, one that will be repeated. You humans are too weak to govern yourselves. Look at you, furious, shaking with emotion. You are not capable of taking your place in the Galaxy unless it is under our heel. Where you will stay, kept like ill mannered pets.”

Simon looked like he might have a stroke, his phaser no longer pointed at Jim’s back. It waved in the air as Simon screamed back.

“I knew it. I KNEW IT! I will kill you all. First, your dog, then your lover, finally, when they are bleeding at your feet, I will pull you apart with my hands.”

Spock glanced down at Panda, hoping Jim understood. Responding to the silent signal, Jim dropped the leash and threw himself to the side, out of the way. Spock whistled one low note and the room exploded into motion. Spock moved with speed, hitting Simon low while Jim’s foot kicked Simon’s legs out from underneath him. Simultaneously, Panda launched himself at Simon’s hand, clamping down on his wrist. The phaser flew out of his hand, clattering across the floor. Spock had just enough time to grab Simon’s shoulder, sending him into unconsciousness.  
Jim staggered to his feet, holding on to the wall for dear life, and stared in wonder at Spock and Panda. 

“Oh, my god.” Jim laughed, somewhat hysterically and reached for the living room COMM. Before he had a chance, G’hed and Sulu barreled through the front door, armed and ready. They skidded to a stop at the scene greeting them.

“Well, I guess you didn’t need our help.” G’hed looked abashed.

Spock raised an eyebrow and hid trembling hands behind his back, which did not go unnoticed by Jim. Panda sat by Simon’s unconscious body, panting.

Sulu muttered something into his COMM and checked Simon’s coat. He slapped a transponder on Simon, who promptly disappeared into a transporter beam.

The men walked silently into the kitchen and wordlessly sat at the table. Jim reached behind him and pulled out a largely untouched bottle of Romulan Ale from a cupboard while Spock swept water glasses into the center of the table. Even Spock drank deeply of the bright blue liquor, reaching for Jim’s hand periodically as if to reassure himself he was still present and in one piece. Jim pulled Panda close, stroking his silky ears, murmuring quietly to him about his bravery and brilliance. Panda closed his eyes in bliss, having already forgotten his unlikely defense of his humans.

Finally, Sulu cleared his throat. “You know, Simon’s phaser was set to kill.”

“I am aware.” Spock’s face was expressionless.

“And he had some interesting tools in his coat.”

“I suspected.”

“You could have waited for us.”

Spock closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, they were blazing. G’hed and Sulu both flinched.

“I could not.”

“Gentlemen,” Jim felt compelled to make peace. “What’s done is done. Just tell me this can’t happen again.”

Sulu fidgeted with his glass. “There was a mole, an OEM operative at headquarters who has been identified.”

“And contained?” Jim asked hopefully, he was beginning to get the hang of the vernacular.

“Ah, no. But rest assured, Alhamisi is on it. You know, he’ll never give up until this is completely resolved.”

“No, I imagine he won’t. I’d hate to be on his bad side. In fact, I’d hate to be Simon right now.”

Spock turned to Jim. “Alhamisi’s reputation is well deserved but he is not a cruel man. He will get the information he needs from Simon, find his operative and I suspect they will both find themselves on a mining asteroid, for the remainder of their lives.”

G’hed snorted. “If Simon had harmed you or Jim, I guarantee Alhamisi would have found a less hospitable environment for their short lives.”

“If Simon had harmed Jim, I promise Alhamisi’s solution would have been far less painful than what I had in mind.”

Jim and Sulu looked at Spock with alarm while G’hed simply shook his head. He could imagine exactly what kind of revenge Spock would employ; Vulcans could be very successful predators, after all.

“Enough.” Jim pushed away from the table and stood. “Gentlemen, it is well past our bedtime and I for one have had enough excitement for tonight.”

Sulu and G’hed nodded and made their way out, noting Spock enabled the force field once they were on the sidewalk.

“What do you think Spock really would have done if Simon had gotten to Jim?”

G’hed glanced at Sulu and laughed out loud. “I think reality would be far worse than our imagination.”

That night, Spock made love to Jim with a fierceness Jim hadn’t experienced even during his pon farr. When Spock finished, Jim held his trembling body and brushed tears off his face. It wasn’t like Spock to weep; he eschewed such rampant displays of emotion. Jim held him closely and when he asked, Spock’s only response was that the cause was sufficient.

 

 

 

Jim opened the cherry wardrobe, listening to the creak of the three hundred year old doors. He was almost overcome with the scent of cedar and pulled out the dark gray frock coat and pinstriped trousers. Spock had picked the suit out, appreciating Jim in an old fashion but stylish alternative to a tuxedo. Spock’s personal tailor had insured it was meticulously fit, adding the illusion of height to Jim’s broad shouldered frame. 

Jim reached for a white French cuff shirt, medium starch, carefully folded on the top shelf, a gray striped ascot and a pair of black leather Stamford loafers. His prizes in hand, he carried them to the bed and lay them carefully on the bronze duvet. Standing in front of his dresser, he pulled out black over-the-calf socks, a dark belt and ivory silk boxers.

Stepping into the boxers, he dressed himself to the left and sat briefly on tall bed and pulled on his socks. Coming to his feet, he shrugged into his shirt, tugging down the French cuffs and carefully buttoning the front part way. He stepped into the trousers, tucking in the shirt. 

Jim faced the mirror, turning up the crisp collar and tied the ascot’s complicated knot. Bones had lent him the ascot and he handled it with affection. He slid his arms into his coat, finally buttoning the last collar button. He stretched his arms out, tugging on the cuffs and secured the dark pearl links at his wrist. They had been a gift from Spock almost one year to the day. Jim rubbed a finger over the studs and smiled at the memory.

Turning to the side, he brushed his sleeves with the whiskbroom in the direction of the warp and weave of his suit. Jim took great pains to insure minimal animal hair clung the coat, but then realized it was a losing proposition. He leaned toward the mirror, running blunt fingers over his face, checking for errant whiskers. Satisfied, he straightened and sighed, he was ready.

A husky voice made a noise of approval and Jim spun, facing Spock. He wore traditional formal robes, black, cut with deep purple gussets, silver script running down the front. His hair was shorter than he normally wore it, trimmed into a sleek cap, reflecting light from the overhead fixture.

He crossed the room and tugged at Jim’s tie, bringing long fingers to caress the sides of his face. He smelled of incense and something indefinable. Jim reached up to readjust his tie, and took his hands in his and kissed each palm. 

Spock’s dark eyes sparkled with humor and something else. He knew Spock wanted to kiss him but he wouldn’t until after the ceremony. He smiled and let affection show in his eyes. He stepped back, dropping Spock’s hands.

“See anything you like?”

Spock tilted his head to the side. “Why, yes, Mr. Kirk, you should make an excellent addition to the House of Surak.” He feigned seriousness for a moment but couldn’t maintain it, laughter dancing in his eyes.

Spock held out his hand, his sleeve sliding back to reveal the black shirt he wore under his robes. Jim almost appreciated him more in the tight shirt, trimmed in purple, sitting untucked over his black trousers, than the robes which hid his slender body. Bowing to tradition, Spock had agreed with T’Pau’s suggested attire, knowing appearance in this case was important. 

Jim took Spock’s hand and they left their house, walking almost in step to the park across the street. Alhamisi had almost had a heart attack, insuring the ceremony in the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park was secure. Eventually, and only after many assurances, he’d left the details to Mr. Sulu and G’hed. He assumed, correctly as it turned out, that they would take extreme care of the new Vulcan Ambassador to Earth and his soon to be husband. 

Jim and Spock walked hand in hand through the park. They had decided to make the trek alone, meeting the attendee’s at the Conservatory. They had become familiar with the push of beings vying for their attention since Spock had accepted his appointment. They both tolerated it, Jim with humor and Spock with his innate dignity. Taking a long walk just prior to their wedding ceremony gave them time to consider and appreciate the day. 

Jim had selected the Conservatory for the ceremony; the old wood and glass Victorian greenhouse was one of his favorite spots. It rose like a sugar confection, sparkling white against the lawns and trees surrounding it. Once inside, it was warm and fragrant, hosting plants from all over Earth, each room distinctive and lovely.

By the time the building came into view, the milling of many beings surprised them. Jim suddenly experienced doubt. Bones was the first one to greet them, cresting the hill a mint julep in his hand.

“Well, Jimmy boy, it’s about god damn time. I was afraid I’d have to propose to Christine just to keep the riff raff satisfied!”

Spock raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Since we are ten point six minutes a head of schedule, your criticism has no merit. However, if you wish to make a ‘honest woman’ of your paramour, please feel free.”

Jim smiled at Spock and cuffed McCoy on the shoulder. “Bones, looks like you invited half of San Francisco. What part of an intimate ceremony didn’t you understand? There’s no way everyone will fit in the Orchid Room.” Jim scanned the crowd, only slightly concerned.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the pre-reception. You get hitched in front of friends and family, and then the party really gets started. Mind you, I’ve had offers of real credits from people who want to be at the ceremony.” Jim looked like he was going to protest, but McCoy waved him off. “No worries. I resisted temptation, though I probably could have paid off a few loans if I’d agreed.”

Jim shook his head, laughing now and guided Spock through the crowd. They stopped and spoke to friends and associates along the way, finally making their way to Alhamisi and Anza holding court at the entrance. Jim found him engulfed in Anza’s warm hug and Alhamisi patted him rather gingerly on the shoulder. When Anza and Alhamisi turned their attention to Spock, Anza touched the side of his face with her open hand, eyes suspiciously bright. Alhamisi straightened and bowed respectfully. Jim felt Spock tamp down a swell of emotion through the bond.

An hour later, they were married according to the customs of Earth. Surrounded by friends and family, they said their vows in English, the language Jim had been raised with and Spock had learned at his mother’s knee. Having bonded in the Vulcan way over a year earlier, they had decided to come full circle, acknowledging all aspects of their joint heritage.

After the guests had left for the reception on the lawn, only Anza lingered at the doorway for a few seconds. She watched them as they faced each other, hands clasped, gazing at each other as only lovers would. 

Anza remembered the boy she had met all those years ago, alienated, alone, stubborn and strong. Now he was a man, a soldier, a diplomat, a husband. She felt pride in what Spock had become. And Jim, she had come to know him well over the last year or so, spending lazy evenings with him, talking about art, history, and philosophy. It wasn’t so much that he had changed, she hadn’t known him as a youth, but he had become more of who she suspected he was meant to be, confidant, loving, full of trust. He’d returned to his roots, his paintings soaring with joy and warmth, and when they turned dark, there was always a spark, a touch of hope.

These two men had become her family, the sons she would never have. A Betazoid valued such a relationship beyond any other. Anza smiled and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. 

Spock gazed at Jim, loving him with every fiber of his being. When they had bonded, joy had filled every corner of his heart. Jim had teased him that their joining had been predestination. That might well be true, but on their wedding day, they had chosen to be with each other for the remainder of their lives. Spock believed, perhaps illogically, that even had the bond not existed, they would have found each other somehow, becoming one together.

Jim felt the bond throb inside him. Spock had become so precious to him. Their lives had merged into a rich tapestry, filled with love, humor, occasionally disappointment and frustration. It was everything he had ever imagined or wanted from life. Jim had always feared death because he’d feared living his life. Now he realized, at the end of his days, he could look back and be satisfied. He must have done something right to be able to share it with Spock.

Jim reached up and placed both hands on either side of Spock’s face. Spock’s eyes closed as he covered Jim’s hands with his own. For a few moments they merged into one being, Jim’s aura blending into Spock’s katra. 

Somewhere, sometime, through all the drifting dimensions that made up each life, each timeline, their joining was repeated once and again through infinity, binding their life forces together. On the Enterprise, on Earth, on Vulcan, on Uzh-Ah’rak, in the Nexus, Jim Kirk laughed and kissed Spock, pulling him into his arms for an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And . . . we're done. I loved writing an AU, as occasionally painful as it was. I would love to hear your impressions, this represents a significant chunk of my life since August but it was a labor of love and I think my favorite so far.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop me a line if you like this!


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